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AUDUBON    THE    NATURALIST. 


LIFE  OF  AUDUBON, 


THE  NATURALIST 


OF   THE   NEW   WORLD 


HIS 


JMflttarts  ani  giscatetts. 


BY 

MRS.   HORACE    ST.  JOHN 


REVISED   AND   CORRECTED,  WITH    ADDITIONS, 

*ND   ILLUSTRATED    WITH    ENGRAVINGS    BY   J.    W.    ORR, 

FROM    ORIGINAL    DESIGNS. 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT    &    CO, 

1884. 


"3 \    i    1      T 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Conrress,  in  the  « s*r  1166, 

By  C.  S.  Francis  &  Co., 

the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  fot 

Southern  District  of  New  York, 


? 


PREFACE. 


The  materials  of  this  narrative  have  been  derived 
from  Audubon's  works,  from  the  recollections  of  hia 
friends,  and  from  fragments  published  in  the  United 
States.  The  writer's  object  has  been,. exclusively,  to 
follow  the  adventurous  American  through  those  episoJes 
of  romance  and  discovery  which  constituted  his  career 
as  a  naturalist. 

Those  unacquainted  with  the  enthusiasm  which  car- 
ried him  onward  in  the  project  of  bis  life,  may  be  at 
times  startled  at  the  extreme  vigour  of  his  descriptions  ; 
but  when  it  is  recollected  that  his  original  language 
was  French,  and  that  in  rendering  his  thoughts  and 
feelings  in  English,  he  found  it  wanting  in  the  sweet- 
ness and  vividness  requisite  for  the  expression  of  his 
poetic  imagination,  and  to  illustrate  the  beauties  of  nature 
as  he  felt  them,  then  his  style  will  be  fully  appreciated, 
and  the   reader  will  follow  him  through  his  career 


(vy 


a. 


VI  PREFACE. 

wondering  that  nature  had  so  many  beauties  before 
unknown  to  him. 

It  has  been  found  necessary  to  correct  the  English 
edition  in  many  particulars  of  fact,  and  in  the  order  of 
events,  which  are  better  known  on  this  side  the  water. 
Some  additions  have  been  made  by  the  American  pub- 
lishers 


CONTENTS. 


PuKTACK .....  ••  ▼ 

CHAPTER  L 

Aspects  of  the  New  World 1 

Magnificent  Forests. 1 

Splendid  Plumage  of  Birds 2 

Boundless  Prairies 2 

Interminable  Rivers 2 

Snow-covered  Wilds. 8 

Crags  and  Cliffs  of  the  St  Lawrence. 8 

Genial  Soil  of  Louisiana 4 

The  £1  Dorado  of  the  Naturalist 4 

Audubon,  the  Genius  of  the  Woods. 4 

His  early  Devotion  to  the  Study  of  Nature. 6 

Disappointments  and  Difficulties 5 

Burns  hundreds  of  his  Early  Sketches 6 

Is  sent  to  France  to  be  Educated 6 

Has  David  for  his  Master. • 

Has  no  taste  for  other  than  Natural  Subjects 7 

Unwearied  in  the  Study  of  Creation 7 

Returns  to  the  Woods  of  the  New  World 7 

Resumes  his  early  Studies 7 

His  "  Birds  of  America"  a  work  of  unequalled  magnifi- 
cence   7 

Unremitting  exertions  amid  Privation  and  Danger 7 


VH1  CONTENTS. 

MM 

Perseveres  friendless  and  alone 8 

Rare  Truthfulness  of  his  Nature .  8 

Equally  at  Home  in  the  Indian  Camp  and  in  Refined 

Society * 


CHAPTER  IL 

His  Estate  in  Pennsylvania 10 

Plantation  on  Perkioming  Creek 10 

A  Rocky  Cave  his  Studio 11 

Birds  build  their  Nests  orer  its  Entrance 11 

Nest  of  Pewees  within  his  Retreat 11 

Audubon's  Marriage 12 

Removes  to  Louisville  after  his  Marriage 13 

Beargrass  Creek,  Kentucky 13 

Kentucky  Barbecues --«, 14 

Fertility  of  Southern  Kentucky 15 

Ruggedness  of  the  Northern  portion 16 

Will  Smith,  the  Forest  Chieftain 17 

Solitary  Life  of  Smith 17 

The  "Silent  Hunter" 18 

Early  Years  of  Will  Smith 18 

Mattie  Saunders. 19 

Tyrannical  conduct  of  Mattie's  Father 19 

Patient  Heroism  of  Will  Smith 20 

Makes  his  Escape  from  the  Cruelty  of  Saunders 21 

Curious  Vicissitudes  and  Distress  of  Will 21 

Found  by  Judge  Campbell 21 

Kindness  and  Humanity  of  the  Judge. 21 

A  Strange  Coincidence, 22 

Saunders  take3  his  Trial  for  "making  away  with  Will"  22 

Sudden  Appearance  of  Will  in  Court 23 

His  emaciated  look  excites  Horror  and  Pity 23 

Mattie's  Sensations 23 

Saunders  compelled  to  aid  in  h'a  Support  and  Education  21 


CONTENTS.  IX 

mat 

Will  Smith  a  Successful  Barrister. 23 

Will  Smith  Marries  Mattie  Saunders '  24 

Years  of  Happiness 24 

Smith's  Losses  in  the  War  of  Independence 24 

The  Lands  beyond  the  Alleghanies  his  Resource. 24 

Mattie  accompanies  him  to  the  West 24 

Leaves  his  Family  at  Sinking  River 25 

Presses  on  to  meet  his  Friend  Boone 25 

On  his  Return  finds  Mattie  and  the  Children  Murdered.  25 

Funeral  Rites 26 

Vengeance  on  the  Shawnees 28 

Smith  never  leaves  their  Track 26 

Sarcophagus  of  the  "  Silent  Hunter" 21 


CHAPTER  IIL 

Audubon  adds  to  his  Collection 28 

Friendly  assistance  of  Gait  and  Ferguson 28 

Visit  from  Wilson,  the  American  Ornithologist 28 

First  impressions  mutually  Disagreeable. . .  .• 28 

Personal  Appearance  of  Wilson 29 

Audubon  refuses  to  subscribe  for  Wilson's  Book 29 

Wilson's  astonishment  on  examining  Audubon's  Collec- 
tion   29 

Friendly  offers  of  Audubon 29 

Wilson's  impressions  of  Louisville 30 

Subsequent  mortification  of  Audubon 80 

Removes  to  Henderson,  on  the  Ohio 30 

Attractiveness  of  the  neighbouring  Heights  and  Valleys  31 

Audubon  remains  several  years  at  Henderson 31 

The  Passenger  Pigeon 31 

Rapid  Flight 31 

Vast  numbers 82 

Wanton  Destruction  of  Pigeons 38 

Earthquakes  in  Kentucky St 


X  CONTENTS. 

warn 

Audubon's  experience  of  an  Earthquake 84 

Terror  of  his  Horse 84 

Earthquake  at  a  Wedding. 85 

Disturbed  Slumbers 86 

The  Whip-poor- Will. 87 

Noiseless  Flight. 81 

Sings  long  after  Sunset 88 

Resumes  its  Song  at  Early  Dawn 88 

The  Chuck-Wills-Widow. 88 

An  Inhabitant  of  Warm  Climates 39 

Habits  of  the  Chuck- Will's- Widow 89 

Its  Song 40 

Its  Wooing 41 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Kentucky  Sports 42 

Habits  of  early  Settlers 48 

Capacious  Flat-boats. 44 

Conflicts  with  Indians 44 

Kentucky  Feat  of  "  Driving  the  Nail" 45 

"  Barking  a  Squirrel" 45 

"Snuffing  the  Candle" 45 

Hurricanes 46 

Destructive  Effects 47 

Audubon  and  Daniel  Boone 48 

Boone's  Account  of  his  Capture  by  Indians 49 

A  Strange  Visitor 51 

"An  odd  Fish" 63 

M.  Thouville,  the  Naturalist 52 

Personal  appearance  of  Thouville 68 

His  Enthusiasm 54 

Nocturnal  Uproar 55 

Sanguinary  Contest  with  Bats 55 

Ttouville  preserves  Specimens 56 


CONTENTS.  XI 

PA  Gl 

Attemp  fcs  the  Passage  of  a  Cane  Brake .  56 

Sudden  Appearance  of  a  Bear 67 

Thunder  Storm  and  Retreat 67 

Disappearance  of  De  Tbouville 58 


CHAPTER  V. 

Audubon's  Commercial  Pursuits 69 

Trading  Voyage  on  the  Upper  Mississippi 69 

First  sight  of  the  "  Bird  of  Washington". 69 

Its  Nest  on  Inaccessible  Cliffs 60 

Its  mode  of  taking  Fish 61 

Wild  Mississippi  Scenery 61 

Vast  Forests — Fairy  Islands 62 

Curious  Nest  of  the  Oriole 63 

Architectural  capacity  of  Birds 64 

Nest  of  the  Tailor  Bird 65 

Flight  of  the  Baltimore  Oriole 65 

Its  Song 65 

Beautiful  Plumage 65 

The  Umbrella  Bird. 66 

Wolf  Island 66 

The  Pirate  Mason 66 

The  Regulators 67 

The  Pirate  Mason  Shot 68 


CHAPTER  VL 

Audubon  s  Return  from  the  Mississippi. 69 

Prairie  Solitudes 69 

Meg  Merrilies  of  the  Woods 70 

Wounded  Indian 70 

Unwilling  Hospitalities 71 

Intended  Treachery 7f 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

wtm 

Timely  Warning .  72 

Imminent  Danger 73 

Opportune  Arrival  of  Friends 74 

Hospitality  of  Backwoodsmen. 74 

An  Incident 74 

Rough  Travelling 75 

Interior  of  a  Log  Cabin 76 

Heart}*  Hospitality  of  the  Inmates 77 

Far-fetched  Cider 77 


CHAPTER  VIL 

Audubon  in  Philadelphia,  in  1824 79 

As  yet  unaware  of  future  Success 79 

Is  introduced  to  Charles  Lucien  Bonaparte 80 

By  him  urged  to  Publication 80 

Doubts  and  Hesitation 80 

Rearranges  his  Drawings 81 

Determines  to  continue  his  Explorations 81 

The  Great  Pine  Swamp 81 

Audubon  in  Upper  Canada 82 

Replenishes  his  Purse  by  taking  Portraits 83 

Returns  to  his  Family  in  Louisiania 83 

Luxuriant  Vegetation  of  Louisiana 88 

The  Louisiana  Thrushes 84 

Privations  attendant  on  his  Pursuits 85 

Cheered  by  the  Song  of  Birds 86 

Habits  of  the  Wood  Thrush *7 

Its  Antipathy  to  the  Raceoon J7 

Peculiarities  of  the  Mocking  Bird 88 

Its  Young  destroyed  by  Snakes 89 

The  Humming  Bird 89 

Its  brilliant  Plumage 9C 

Rapid  Hight 9C 

Whole  Structure  adapted  for  Flight 93 


CONTENTS.  Xlll 

PAGl 

Nest  of  the  Humming  Bird 91 

Its  peculiar  Food 92 

The  Sun  Bird 93 

Gem-like  Plumage 93 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Swamp  on  the  Mississippi  River. 94 

Guide  to  the  Swamp 94 

A  Cougar  Hunt 95 

Seeking  the  Track 96 

TheAnimal  "Treed" 96 

Is  Shot,  and  Escapes  Wounded 97 

The  Pursuit  continued 97 

Treed  again 98 

Death  of  the  Cougar 98 

A  Suspicious  Appearance 99 

"  Stand  still  or  die" 99 

Audubon's  Forbearance 100 

A  Runaway  Negro 100 

The  Runaway's  Queen 101 

The  Negro's  Recital 102 

Extreme  Privations  of  his  Family 103 

Audubon's  kindness  to  them 104 

Mississippi  Floods 104 

Their  Destructiveness 105 

A  Crevasse 106 

Seenes  of  Desolation 106 

Transformation 107 

Gradual  Subsidence 108 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Audubon's  years  of  Toil  and  Disappointment 109 

His  indomitable  Perseverance 109 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

PA  01 

His  Constitution  invigorated  by  a  Life  of  Hardship. ...  110 

His  moral  Fortitude 110 

Difficulty  in  getting  his  Drawings  Engraved Ill 

Determines  to  visit  Europe Ill 

His  Diffidence Ill 

His  Success Ill 

Honors  accorded  him  in  Liverpool. Ill 

Hospitality  of  the  Rathbone  Family 112 

Universal  Approval  of  his  Drawings 112 

First  Number  of  "  Birds  of  America" ,   112 

Exhibits  Engravings  in  various  English  towns. 113 

Lord  Stanley 114 

Audubon  elected  Member  of  the  Linnsean  and  Zoologi- 
cal Societies 114 

Visits  Paris  in  1828. 114 

Cuvier 114 

Returns  to  America  in  1829 114 

An  Original 115 

A  Studio 118 

Abad  "Sitter" 117 

An  impassible  Commodore 118 

Audubon  Revisits  London 118 

Diploma  from  the  Royal  Society 119 

Returns  to  New  York. 118 

Visits  "Washington  and  Charleston 119 

Spends  the  Winter  of  1831  in  Florida. 119 

Birds  and  Vegetation  of  Florida 120 

Various  species  of  Doves 120 

Tender  Cooing  of  the  Zenaida  Dove. 121 

Ita  effect  upon  a  noted  Pirate. 121 

Nest  of  the  Zenaida  Dove. 121 

The  Ground  Dove 122 

The  Key  West  Pigeon 128 

Its  resplendent  Plumage 129 


CONTENTS.  X* 

CHAPTER  X. 

nam 

Pine  Ban  ens  of  East  Florida 124 

Wood  Cutters 1 25 

Their  Mode  of  Life 125 

Fogs  in  the  Woods 126 

A  "  Live  Oaker"  lost  in  the  Woods. 127 

Night  in  the  Woods 127 

Hunger  and  thirst. 1 29 

Prolonged  Sufferings. 129 

Final  Rescue. 129 

The  "  Turtlers"  of  Florida 130 

Beautiful  Islands • 131 

Catching  Turtles 132 

TheTurtler's  Story 133 

A  Yawl  marked  with  Blood 134 

Dying  Groans 135 

The  Wounded  Pirate 136 

Extraordinary  Situation. 137 

Death  Wounds 138 

The  Pirate's  Confession. 139 

Death  of  the  Pirate 140 


CHAPTER  XL 

Audubon  revisits  Philadelphia. 141 

Boston 141 

New  Brunswick 142 

Birds  on  the  St  John's  River 142 

Visits  Labrador- 142 

Islands  on  the  Coast 143 

The  Esquimaux  Curlew 143 

Dense  flocus  of  Curlews 143 

The  Roseate  Fern 144 

Solitudes  of  Labrador. 144 


XVI  CONTENTS. 

A  Suppliant 145 

Poverty  and  Contentment 147 

Hard  Fare. 147 

A  Citizen  of  the  World H8 

Eggers  of  Labrador. 149 

Cruel  Habits  of  the  Eggers 149 

Probable  Extinction  of  Birds 151 

Coast  of  Newfoundland 152 

A  Serenade  and  BalL 153 

Modesty  of  the  Belles 155 

Visit  to  Pictou 155 

Audubon  returns  to  New  York 156 

Revisits  London  and  Edinburgh • .  157 


CHAPTER  XH, 

Audabons  untiring  ZeaL 158 

Occasional  Dejection 159 

The  Highlands  of  Scotland 160 

Volume  of  "Water  Birds". 161 

Solitary  Retreats  of  Water  Birds 161 

The  Cormorant . 161 

Double-crested  Cormorant  of  Labrador 162 

The  Florida  Cormorant 162 

Flight  of  the  Cormorant 163 

The  Great  Blue  Heron. 163 

Its  Solitary  Habits 164 

Enormous  Appetite 164 

Nest  of  the  Cormorant 165 

The  ■  Lady  of  the  Waters" 165 

Herons 1 66 

The  Brown  Pelican 166 

Its  great  Powers  of  Flight 166 

The  Frigate  Pelican 167 

Its  resemblance  to  the  Vulture 16* 


CONTENTS.  XVU 

PAGI 

Rapid  Flight 167 

Mode  of  taking  its  Prey. 168 

The  American  White  Pelican 169 

American  varieties  of  the  Ibis 169 

The  American  Flamingo * 170 

The  'Oyster  Catcher 170 

Its  Timidity 171 

Mode  of  obtaining  its  Food. 17? 

The  Anhinga,  or  Snake  Bird 172 

Frequents  the  Pools  of  Florida 178 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Audubon's  Recollections  of  Scotland 175 

Christopher  North 175 

His  Account  of  a  Visit  from  Audubon 176 

Gaieties  and  Gravities 179 

Canal-boat  Travelling. 180 

Audubon  at  Sixty 181 

His  rapid  Walk 181 

His  keen  Sight 182 


CHAPTER  XTV. 

Audubon's  attachment  to  his  Native  Shores. 183 

Precarious  Health  of  his  Wife. 183 

Meeting  with  Nuttall 184 

Audubon  at  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 186 

A  Family  Gathering 187 

Impatience  of  Subscribers 187 

The  Meadow  Lark 188 

Its  places  of  resort 188 

Peculiar  Flight  of  the  Meadow  Lark 181 

Solicitude  for  its  Young 19C 


XY111  CONTENTS. 

MM 

Found  in  Labrador 19C 

Nest  of  the  Meadow  Lark . .  191 

The  Mungo  Humming  Bird 191 

Humming  Birds  peculiar  to  the  American  Continent-. .  199. 

The  Raven 19S 

Various  species  of  the  Crow 1 98 

The  Whiteheaded  Eagle 194 

Mode  of  taking  its  Pre}* 194 

Astonishing  Rapacity  and  Daring 195 

Great  Powers  of  Abstinence 195 

An  unfit  National  Emblem 196 

Franklin's  Opinion  of  it 196 

Audubon's  first  sight  of  the  Caracara  Eagle 197 

The  Golden  Eagle 197 

A  Magnificent  Specimen 197 

Its  Tenacity  of  Life 19S 

Seen  as  far  North  as  Labrador 199 

Keenness  of  Vision 199 

Long-continued  Gyrations 200 

Nests  inaccessible 200 

Anecdote  in  Illustration 200 


CHAPTER   XV. 

Audubon's  Great  "Work  Completed  in  1839 201 

His  Unremitting  Zeal  for  Sixteen  Years 202 

Sustained  by  Visions  of  Final  Success 202 

Labors  terminated  in  his  Sixty-Third  Year 203 

Audubon's  Death 204 

CHAPTER  XVL 

Note  by  the  American  Publishers. 205 

The  "  Quadrupeds  of  North  America" 205 

Octavo  Edition  of  the  "  Birds  of  America'* 206 

Rev.  Dr.  Bachman.  of  Charleston 2(N 


CONTENTS.  XIX 

PAOl 

V.  G.  <fc  J.  W.  Audubon 207 

Further  Researches  in  1843 207 

Octavo  Edition  of  the  "  Quadrupeds". 208 

THE  MINK. 

Destructive  to  Poultry 208 

Ita  Quickness  and  Cunning 209 

Mode  of  Stealing  Fowls 210 

Minks  Abundant  on  the  Ohio  River 211 

Fond  of  Fish 212 

Catches  Rats  and  Mice. 213 

A  Mystery  Solved 213 

Preys  on  the  Marsh  Hen 214 

Effect  of  Fear  on  Animals 215 

Residence  of  the  Mink 216 

Flies  to  the  Water  when  Pursued 216 

Dives  at  the  Flash  of  a  Gun 217 

Easily  taken  in  Trap* 217 

Very  Tenacious  of  Life 217 

Emits  an  Offensive  Odor  when  Provoked 218 

Easily  Domesticated  when  Young 218 

Skin  an  Article  of  Commerce 219 

Beautiful  Silver-Gray  Specimen 220 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

THE    BUFFALO. 

The  Largest  of  American  Quadrupeds 221 

Remains  of  Lost  Races. 222 

Rapid  Disappearance  of  the  Buffalo 222 

Btill  numerous  on  the  Prairies  of  the  Far  West 228 

Much  addicted  to  Wandering 224 

Fights  of  the  Buffalo  Bulls 224 

Bellowing  heard  for  Miles 225 

Cross  Rivers  on  the  Ice 22J 


XX  CONTENTS. 

<  rAei 

Sometimes  carried  away  on  Cakes  of  Ice 221 

The  Gaits  of  the  Buffalo 226 

Its  Mode  of  tying  down  and  rising. 227 

Buffaloes  caught  swimming  the  Missouri. - . .   227 

Buffalo  Tripe ,  ..   228 

Indian  Preference  for  Carrion. 228 

Attempts  to  Entrap  Buffaloes  at  Fort  Union 229 

Occasionally  Shot  near  the  Fort 229 

Buffalo  Hunting 231 

A  Wounded  Bull 231 

Burrows  of  the  Swift  Fox 233 

Buffalo  Brains  eaten  raw  by  Hunters 233 

Bleached  Buffalo  Skulls. 234 

Buffaloes  frequently  killed  for  the  Tongue  alone. 234 

Dangerous  when  Wounded 234 

Imprudent  Daring. 235 

Narrow  Escape  from  a  "Wounded  Bull 236 

Prairie  Sunset 236 

Night  Scene  on  the  Prairies. 237 

Signs  of  the  Grizzly  Bear 237 

Wolves  among  the  Bushes. 237 

Signal  for  Buffaloes 238 

Bad  Water  on  the  Prairies 239 

Prairie  Fuel 239 

Vast  Numbers  of  Bisons  on  the  Prairies. 239 

Statement  of  Mr.  Kipp 239 

Shyness  of  the  Buffalo 240 

Indian  Modes  of  Hunting  the  Buffalo 240 

The  Mandan  Indians 241 

Action  of  the  Buffalo  when  pursued 24 J 

Taken  by  the  Indians  in  Pens. 242 

A  Buffalo  Decoy 243 

Indian  Ceremonies 244 

Numerous  Enemies  of  the  Bison 245 

Indian  Method  of  making  Boats. 245 

Various  uses  of  the  Buffalo 246 


CONTENTS.  JUO 

CHAPTER  XVHL 

THE  OPOSSUM. 

PAO« 

Unknown  in  Europe 247 

Description  of  the  Opossum 247 

Nocturnal  in  its  Habits 248 

Found  in  all  the  Southern  States 248 

Awkward  Movements  of  the  Opossum 248 

Seeks  Safety  in  Concealment 249 

A  Slow  Traveller. 249 

Peculiar  Structure  of  the  Opossum 250 

Omnivorous 250 

Singular  Position  in  Sleep 250 

Not  Gregarious 251 

Not  Torpid  in  Winter 251 

Hunting  the  Opossum 252 

Pursued  by  Torchlight. 255 

"  Coon"  in  a  Tree 255 

"  'Possum  Playing" 255 

Negro  Feasting 257 

The  Opossum's  Habit  of  Feigning  Death 257 

Easily  Domesticated 258 

Prefers  Fatty  Substances  for  Food. 259 

CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    BEAVER. 

Sagacity  and  Instinct , 260 

Credulity  of  Early  Writers- 260 

Enthusiasm  of  Buffon 260 

Prefers  Clear  Water  Rivers 261 

Beaver  Dams 262 

Mode  of  Construction 262 

Great  Size  of  Dams. 268 

Beaver  Lodges 364 


XX11  CONTENTS. 

Works  only  at  Night 264 

Diving  and  Swimming t65 

Protection  against  Frost 265 

Beaver  Beds 266 

Habits  in  Travelling 265 

Lazy  Beavers  or  "  Paresseux". 266 

Habits  of  the  "  Paresseux" 266 

Beaver  Catching  Season. 267 

Weight  of  the  Beaver .  267 

Beaver  Tails  eaten 267 

Mode  of  Hunting  the  Beaver  in  Winter 268 

A  Domesticated  Beaver 269 

THE   JAGUAR. 

Of  American  Animals  the  most  to  be  dreaded. 27l 

Equal  to  the  Tiger  in  Fierceness- 271 

Haunts  and  Habits  of  the  Jaguar 271 

Roanis  abroad  through  the  whole  Night 271 

Lies  in  wait  at  Salt  Licks 271 

Preys  on  Colts  and  Calves 272 

Sneaking  Habits 272 

The  Jaguar's  Mode  of  seizing  its  Prey 278 

Wolves  and  the  Jaguar 274 

Colonel  Hays  and  the  Jaguar 274 

Skin  highly  prized 275 

Sometimes  prowl  in  Pairs 275 

Anecdote  of  the  Jaguar 276 

Subject  to  Fits  of  Bad  Temper 277 

Great  Strength. 277 

Sometimes  attacks  the  Human  Species 27  7 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  GOAT. 

Inhabits  Vast  Mountain  Solitudes 279 

First  described  by  Lewis  and  Clark, 28? 


CONTENTS.  XX1L 

PAOff 

Habits  and  Haunts 281 

Difficult  to  procure 282 

Taken  by  the  Indians 289 

THE   BLACK    BEAR. 

Characteristics  of  the  Black  Bear 28S 

Changes  its  Haunts  with  the  Seasons. 283 

Omniverous  Habits 284 

Robs  the  Bee  Trees 284 

Houses  itself  in  Hollow  Trees 284 

Singular  Fit  of  the  Bear 284 

Bear-meat  a  Delicacy 285 

Appearance  of  the  Fore-paw  when  Cooked 285 

Eats  the  Indian  Turnip 286 

The  Black  Bear  a  Swift  Runner 286 

Anecdote 286 

Sudden  Appearance  and  Disappearance  of  a  Bear. . . .  287 

Nocturnal  Summons  to  a  Bear  Hunt 288 

Plan  of  Attack 289 

Shrieks  of  the  Negroes. •  289 

Courage  and  Strength 290 

The  Bear's  attack  on  Scipio 291 

Bear-traps  in  Maine 292 

Catches  Fish  on  the  Coast  of  Labrador 292 

A  good  Swimmer. 292 

Pursuit  of  a  Bear  on  the  Ohio 298 

CHAPTER  XXL 

THE   GRIZZLY    BEAB. 

Excitement  produced  by  his  suspected  Presence. 295 

Not  numerous  East  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 296 

Indians  wear  his  Teeth  as  Trophies  of  Prowess 296 

Grizzly  Bear  Hunt  described 297 

Prairie  Dogs. 298 


XXIV  CONTENTS 

TkQl 

Habits  of  the  Grizzly  Bear 299 

Its  favourite  Food 800 

Adventures  with  Grizzly  Bears. 801 

A  Grizzly  Bear  feasting  on  Peas 302 

Man  carried  off  by  a  Grizzly  Bear 808 

Scalping  by  a  Bear 804 

Mr.  Drummond's  Adventure 305 

Grizzly  Bears  in  California 806 

Grizzly  Bear  killed  on  Black  Foot  River 308 

lian  chased  bv  a  Grizzly  Bear tl€ 


AUDUBON 

1HE  NATURALIST  IN  THE  NEW  WORLD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A  RARE  combination  of  beauty  with  gran- 
-*"*-  deur  characterizes  the  aspects  of  Creation 
in  the  New  World.  Varied  as  they  are,  yet 
ever  peculiarly  rich  and  often  sublime,  it  would 
Beem  indeed  as  though  nature  had  designed  to 
cast  this  her  favoured  land  in  a  fresh  mould  of 
marvellous  beauty. 

Widely  differing  in  its  features,  the  American 
territory,  from  the  charm  of  its  contrasted  scenes 
offers  equal  attractions  to  the  most  antagonistic 
lovers  of  the  beautiful.  There  are  vast  forests, 
roofed  with  dense  foliage,  the  lofty  stems  in  their 
delicious  retreats,  interlaced  with  numberless 
vines,  or  gaily  crowned  with  perfumed  flower 
garlands.     Brilliant  blossoms  of  every  hue  and 

1  A 


2  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

odour  mingle  their  loveliness  with  the  stuartia's 
snowy  purity,  the  majestic  form  of  the  magnolia, 
or  richly  scented  clustering  orange,  irradiating 
with  golden  light  the  dark  verdure  of  gaidcna 
and  groves. 

Birds  of  splendid  plumage  and  graceful  flight 
congregate  in  multitudes,  telling  their  aerial  pas- 
sage by  the  wondrous  melody  of  their  song. 

Tempting  fruits  and  berries,  ripened  by  genial 
warmth  and  brushed  by  gentlest  breeze — all 
these  are  elements  of  many  a  sunny  scene,  which 
breaks  like  a  gladdening  land  of  promise  on  the 
gaze  of  a  loiterer,  midst  the  western  woods. 

Alternating  with  the  pathless  intricacies  of  tht 
wilderness  are  vast  untrodden  prairies.  Ove? 
these  some  hermit  wanderer  might  roam,  follow 
ing  only  the  track  of  the  Indian,  undisturbed 
for  miles  by  human  sight  or  sound,  greeted  now 
and  then  but  by  the  buzzing  wings  of  the  beetle 
— a  prey  for  the  night  hawk,  whose  skimming 
undulations  are  seen  around,  or  by  the  more 
unwelcome  howling  of  distant  wolves. 

To  those  delighting  in  the  freedom  of  the 
waters,  how  inviting  the  waves  of  the  imperial 
Mississippi  and  Ohio  I  Pursuing  the  gracefully 
winding  course  of  these  rivers,  from  which  ver- 
durous islands  rise,  glistening  in  the  light,  like 
emeralds  gemming  a  breot  of  snow,  some  Cru- 
soe-minded  mariner  too,  might  contentedly  once 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  NEW  WORLD.  3 

bave  wandered.  In  sight  of  lofty  hills,  bordered 
by  forests,  he  would  have  heard  only  the  bells 
of  the  cattle,  pasturing  in  the  valleys  beyond, 
the  horn  of  the  boatman,  or  the  hooting  of  the 
owl. 

Or,  to  adventurous  spirits,  yet  more  tempting 
perhaps  might  seem  those  sterile  wilds — the 
homes  of  the  Esquimaux.  Upon  their  rugged 
shores  vast  tracts  of  snow  dappled  country  are 
seen  clad  with  stunted  vegetation  of  firs  or 
tangled  creeping  pines.  Innumerable  beds  of 
richly  tinted  mosses  relieve  the  desolation  of 
huge  mountain  ridges,  and  the  barren  aspect  of 
these  wastes. 

Far  above  the  boisterous  waves  of  the  St. 
Lawrence,  towers  a  line  of  crag  and  cliff,  like  a 
granite  bulwark  of  the  waters.  From  its  sum- 
mit open  all  around,  in  gorgeous  array,  fertile 
valleys,  thickets  clothed  with  green,  and  glassy 
lakes,  over  which  hover  birds  of  varied  wing, 
and  banks  of  snow  backed  by  mountains,  ming- 
ling their  gray  tints  with  those  of  the  cold 
northern  sky.  On  the  numerous  low  islands 
dotting  the  western  coast  of  these  regions,  are 
multitudes  of  cormorants  and  other  aquatic 
wanderers,  their  sable  wings  sailing  with  aston- 
ishing rapidity  over  the  waters,  or  spread  to  seek 
their  nests  among  cliifs  washed  by  the  surge. 

But   whether  on  northern  or  southern  soil, 


4  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

there  is  attraction  for  the  lover,  no  less  tnan  the 
student  of  nature  in  the  New  World.  Sources 
of  poetic  inspiration  and  of  scientific  interest 
abound,  from  the  genial  land  of  Louisiana,  to 
the  inclement  regions  of  Labrador.  A  very  in- 
tellectual El  Dorado  for  the  Naturalist, — no  more 
propitious  element  could  be  imagined,  for  the 
nativity  of  Audubon,  the  Genius  of  the  woods. 

For  him  nature  breathed  an  irresistibly  per- 
suasive language,  and  allured,  as  with  a  magic 
charm  the  loving  soul  of  her  disciple — favoured 
inhabitant,  he  thought,  of  retreats  where  surely 
she  must  have  lingered  to  scatter  her  costliest 
treasures,  and  display  her  most  winning  grace. 
Gratitude  for  such  a  birthright  added  fresh  zeal 
to  the  warmth  of  his  love.  Recognizing,  more- 
over, divinity  in  the  impress  of  beauty  on  the 
earth,  this  love  was  elevated  into  worship  of  the 
great  Spirit  of  Truth  and  Light,  which  brooded 
over  the  troubled  waters,  and  still  ordains  the 
invariable  harmony  of  the  Universe. 

To  this  worship  was  doubtless  owing  that  en- 
tire dedication  to  his  calling,  which  crowned 
him  with  such  distinguished  honours  in  his  vo- 
cation, as  Naturalist 

The  traits  even  of  his  childhood  appropriately 
characterized  him  for  this,  his  chosen  career. 
Woods,  brooks,  and  wilds  were  his  favouriw 
haunts. 


HIS  CHILDHOOD.  5 

Welcoming  the  coming  seasons,  or  watching 
with  special  wonder  and  delight  the  return  of 
the  bright-liveried  birds  to  their  retreats,  were 
employments  which  had  for  him  an  unequalled 
charm.  Such  ecstacy  even  did  he  experience 
when  gazing  on  the  shining  pearly  eggs,  im- 
bedded in  softest  down,  among  dried  leaves,  or 
exposed  on  the  burning  weather-beaten  shores  of 
the  Atlantic,  that  an  intimacy  with  such  objects, 
not  of  friendship  merely,  "  but  of  ardent  passion 
bordering  on  frenzy,"  he  felt  assured  must  ac- 
company his  steps  through  life.  This  conviction 
increased  with  advancing  years,  fostered  by  the 
paternal  companion  who  shared  and  sympathized 
in  all  his  congenial  pursuits.  He  longed  to  un- 
derstand nature,  and  the  hidden  agency  by 
which  the  spells  of  her  enchantment  were 
wrought.  In  order  for  this  he  must  ally  him- 
self with  her — he  must  devote  himself  to  her ;  be 
the  constant  companion  of  her  changing  moods. 
Only  through  this  allegiance  could  he  make  her 
his.  He  resolved ;  and  wedded  to  this  object 
of  his  dearest  desire,  during  life  he  cherished  it 
faithfully  and  well.  Vicissitudes  and  trials  had 
only  power  to  stimulate  him  in  his  course.  Yet 
disappointment  awaited  him  for  many  years. 
He  was  inspired  with  an  ardent  wish  to  possess 
the  productions  of  nature.     This  haunted  him, 

and  incited  that  creative  impulse  through  which 
1* 


6  AUDUBON"  THE  NATURALISE 

the  artist  strives  to  embody  the  idealism  of  h*s 
loving  thought, — thus  reproducing  the  beautiful 
objects  of  the  material  world  mirrored  by  his 
imagination. 

To  appease  this  desire  the  father  of  Audubon 
presented  him  with  a  book  of  ornithological  il- 
lustrations. Received  with  avidity,  it  only  in- 
creased the  desire  to  produce  a  work  of  the  same 
character ;  but  the  sorest  mortification  attended 
this  effort.  His  production,  Audubon,  tells  us, 
had  no  more  resemblance  to  nature  than  mansrled 
remains  on  the  battle-field  to  the  forms  of  living 
men.  But  with  the  unwearied  assiduity  of  true 
genius,  he  persevered  in  these  attempts.  "  To 
have  been  torn  from  the  study,"  he  says,  "  would 
have  been  as  death  to  him."  Hundreds  of  such 
sketches  were  by  his  request  the  materials  for 
bonfires  on  the  anniversaries  of  his  birth — seem- 
ingly the  sacrificial  offerings  of  his  young  fancy 
at  the  altar  of  that  artistic  truth  he  would  so 
zealously  and  devoutly  serve.  Patiently  he 
continued  in  his  endeavours ;  various  plans  of 
study  were  successively  adopted  and  as  surely 
abandoned.  Early  in  life  he  was  taken  to 
France  for  the  purpose  of  education.  There  he 
had  David  for  his  master,  who  gave  him  as  mo- 
dels gigantic  human  features  and  colossal  animal 
representations,  the  curious  mythological  devices 
of  some  ancient  sculpture.     But  no  classical  bias 


RETURN  TO   AMERICA.  7 

induced  him  to  appreciate  these  strange  produo 
tions  of  antique  taste.  Such  exercises  were  im 
mediately  laid  aside.  By  living,  breathing 
nature  only  was  he  arrested.  To  him  she  was 
manifested  in  all  her  wisdom,  and  he  was  thus 
furnished  with  a  thousand  infallible  sources  of 
enlightenment.  Creation  he  could  unweariedly 
study,  and  from  perpetual  contemplation  ac- 
quired a  skill  in  his  delineations  which  at  length 
brought  him  success  beyond  his  most  sanguine 
expectations. 

With  fresh  energy  and  delight  he  returned 
from  France  to  the  glorious  woods  of  the  New 
World.  Inspired  by  their  atmosphere,  he  com- 
menced again  the  studies  of  his  early  youth, 
even  with  more  enthusiasm  than  before  his  so 
journ  in  France ;  which  enabled  him  to  complete 
that  marvellous  collection  of  drawings  perpetu- 
ated in  the  "  Birds  of  America."  This  work  is 
one  of  unequalled  magnificence,  and  in  the  tints 
of  its  gorgeous  illustrations,  as  in  illuminated 
characters,  the  fame  of  its  author  remains  in 
scribed.  From  this  period  his  exertions  were 
unremittingly  continued.  Difficulty,  toil,  priva- 
tion, and  even  danger,  often  attended  his  re- 
searches, pursued  as  they  were  throughout  the 
entire  extent  of  the  American  territory.  Rude 
swamps,  dreary  solitudes,  wild  barren  regions — 
these  were  of  necessity  the  resorts  of  the  natu 


3  AUDUBON   THE    NATURALIST. 

ralist,  do  less  than  the  gladsome  scenes  of  his 
native  soil.  To  roam,  furnished  only  with  his 
wallet  and  fowling  piece,  from  day  dawn  till 
compelled  by  darkness  to  seek  the  shelter  of 
some  copse  or  shade  in  the  unknown  waste ; 
there,  beside  the  fire  kindled  by  his  own  hands, 
to  partake  of  his  frugal  meal;  friendless  and 
alone,  to  be  surprised  perhaps  by  the  resistless 
fury  of  the  elements — lightning,  storm,  and 
thunder — causing  the  wreck  of  nature  round 
his  unsheltered  resting-place — menaced  by  the 
ferocity  of  wild  animals  or  the  inhospitality  oi 
his  own  species ; — such  were  his  customs,  and 
the  conditions  essential  to  his  vocation. 

Successive  intervals  present  us  with  various 
phases  of  this  great  man's  career ;  yet  always 
we  see  the  rare  truthfulness  of  his  nature,  and 
his  high-souled  faith  transparent  in  that  daunt- 
less nobility  which  made  him  display  equal  free- 
dom of  action,  as  well  as  equal  affability  and 
ease,  in  the  camp  of  the  Indian  or  the  settler's 
hut  as  in  the  assemblies  of  refined  society.  He 
visited  successively  all  the  most  distinguished 
capitals  of  Europe,  and  we  gladly  find  him  wel- 
comed, encouraged,  courted,  and  honoured  by  the 
great  and  good  of  the  earth.  But  with  yet  more 
gladness  we  follow  him,  unchanged,  through  the 
vicissitudes  of  his  destiny,  retaining  the  simpli- 
city of  taste,  the  freshness  of  sentiment,  the  cor- 


NOBILITY  OF   CHARACTER.  9 

dial  feeling  and  geniality  of  heart,  whicli  as  a 
richer  endowment  even  than  his  intellectual  su- 
periority, distinguished  so  specially  and  so  hon- 
ourably the  renowned  Poet  Naturalist  of  tho 
New  World. 

Through  an  amiable  modesty,  Audubon  him- 
self permits  many  details  of  his  life  to  be  veiled 
in  obscurity.  This,  which  may  reasonably  be 
supposed  to  increase  the  difficulty  of  the  bio- 
grapher in  following  minutely  and  accurately 
his  career,  is  not,  however,  an  insurmountable 
impediment.  From  strict  attention  to  the  various 
sources  from  which  information  may  be  gathei  ed, 
it  is  comparatively  easy  to  follow,  step  by  siep, 
the  fascinating  story,  edifying  from  the  example 
it  affords,  and  replete  not  only  from  its  scientific, 
but  from  its  moral  value,  with  interest  and  im- 
portance. 


i 


10  AUDUBON   THE  NATUKAXIS1. 


CHAPTER    II. 

A  S  Audubon  advanced  towards  manhood,  his 
•*--*-  father  desired  to  present  him  with  some 
enduring  evidence  of  the  affectionate  regard  he 
had  ever  manifested.  An  estate,  or,  according 
to  American  phraseology,  a  plantation,  in  the 
beautiful  State  of  Pennsylvania,*  surrounded 
by  woodlands,  meadows,  and  verdurous  hills, 
was  the  appropriate  token  selected.  This  spot 
offered  many  an  enticing  subject  for  the  artist's 
pencil. 

Rambling  at  dawn,  to  return  wet  with  the 
fresh  dews  of  morning — rejoiced  if  the  bearer  of 
a  feathered  prize — Audubon  here  passed  deli- 
cious days  in  the  pursuit  of  his  favourite  studies. 

His  plantation  reposed  on  the  sloping  declivity 
of  the  Perkioming  Creek.  Along  the  rocky 
banks,  it  was  his  habit  fondly  to  loiter.  There 
lie  could  watch  the  sweet  flowers  cordially  un- 
folding their  beauty  to  the  sun,  see  the  contem- 
plative kingfisher  perched  with  dignity  on  some 

•At  that  time  Pennsylvania  was  a  slAve  state,  anJ  the 
farms  w  sre  called  plantations. 


PURSUIT  OF  STUDIES.  11 

stone  or  spray,  reflected  in  the  clear  water  be- 
neath; the  fish  hawk  and  white-headed  eagle, 
their  elegant  aerial  motions  raising  the  thoughts 
to  that  heaven  towards  which  they  soared. 

A.  small  cave,  scooped  by  nature  in  the  rock, 
was  his  studio.  Some  paper,  pencils,  with  a 
volume  of  Edgworth's  tales,  or  La  Fontaine'?* 
charming  fables,  were  its  contents.  Here,  when 
swelling  buds  and  blossoming  trees — spite  of 
snow-flakes  on  the  earth  and  chill  winds — told 
the  approach  of  spring,  the  birds  returned  to 
their  nests  in  the  rock,  over  the  arched  entrance 
of  his  retreat.  Already  the  glowing  rays  of  the 
sun  coloured  richly  every  object,  when  entering 
one  morning  his  accustomed  sanctum,  a  rustling 
sound  told  the  arrival  of  the  pewee  fly  catchers, 
his  appearance  had  disturbed.  Courteously  he 
withdrew  to  leave  his  retreat  occupied  by  the 
little  pilgrims.  Daily  he  returned  to  behold 
them  fluttering  in  and  about  the  cave,  darting 
through  the  air  and  enjoying,  apparent^,  by 
their  fluttering  motions  and  erected  crest,  the 
most  agreeable  converse.  Before  a  week  th. 
peArees  and  their  guardian  were  on  terms  of 
such  intimacy,  that  Audubon,  determined  to  en- 
joy the  company  of  so  affectionate  and  amiable 
a  pair,  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  day  again 
in  his  cave  with  them.  Delighted,  he  observed 
them  reuair  the  nest,  and  warm  it  by  an  addi- 


1.2  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

tional  lining  of  some  large  soft  feathers  of  the 
goose,  picked  up  by  them  along  the  water's 
edge.  Meanwhile,  the  emotion  of  their  twitter- 
ing notes  and  gentle  expressions  of  tenderness 
in  their  caresses,  seemed  to  anticipate  their  fu- 
ture joys.  As  long  as  the  plantation  remained 
to  Audubon,  a  pewee's  nest  continued  in  hh 
favourite  retreat.  This  species  of  bird  is  abun- 
dant in  the  Floridas,  as  also  during  winter  in 
Louisiana  and  the  Carolinas.  It  almost  invaria- 
riably  forms  its  nest  in  caves  or  the  rocky  banks 
of  creeks. 

And  now  the  enthusiastic  passion,  hitherto 
awakened  only  by  birds  and  flowers,  was  kin- 
dled in  the  presence  of  a  nobler  breathing  nature 
realizing  more  than  all  of  material  beauty  beheld 
before,  as  well  as  the  highest  idealism  could  con- 
ceive. He  loved ;  and  we  may  conclude,  that 
"his  affection"  was  not  "  light  as  the  feathers  he 
delineated,"  since  soon  he  was  a  husband,  and 
through  existence  continued  tenderly  mindful  of 
the  relationship  he  owned.  Of  this,  we  have 
ample  testimony,  notwithstanding  the  long  in- 
tervals of  absence  his  occupations  necessitated. 
We  have  treasured  reminiscences  and  brighten- 
ing glimpses  of  returning  dearly-cherished  joys 
glittering  like  sparingly-scattered  gems  over  the 
restless  and  often  troubled  current  of  his  way. 

At  this  time,  his  feelings  were  wounded  by 


LOUISVILLE.  15 

the  irritating  remarks  of  some  well-meaning 
friends,  who,  ignorant  of  his  genius,  and  deaf  to 
its  charmed  voice,  opposed  the  prosecution  of  his 
pursuits.  Doubtless,  he  was  not  only  admon- 
ished, but  censured  as  heedless  of  interest  and  of 
duty.  Happily  he  found  solace  in  the  sympathy 
of  the  chosen  companion  of  his  life,  who,  during 
the  solitude  of  separation,  also  found  her  conso- 
lation in  the  sustaining  conviction  of  the  nobility 
and  worth  of  an  affection  like  that  of  Audubon's, 
ever  unaltered  by  trial. 

To  Louisville,  one  of  his  favourite  abiding 
places,  Audubon  repaired  immediately  after  his 
marriage.  It  was  situated  on  the  banks  of  La 
Belle  Riviere.  Graced  by  the  famed  rapids  of 
the  Ohio  leaping  over  their  rocky  beds — by  the 
mountains  of  the  Silver  Hills,  bounding  on  the 
opposite  side  a  Swiss-like  view,  miles  in  extent. 

On  the  north,  one  of  the  many  beautiful  streams 
which  adorn  the  State  is  the  Beargrass  Creek, 
loitering  through  a  shady  wood  of  majestic 
beeches,  interspersed  with  walnuts,  oaks,  elms, 
and  ashes,  which  extend  on  either  side  its  course. 
It  was  the  resort  of  many  a  lounger  in  the  balmy, 
gunny  days  of  that  climate,  and  it  was  also  a 
favoured  spot  in  the  country,  for  the  celebration 
of  the  great  day  of  the  American  people,  the 
Anniversary  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 

Then  in  the  warmth  of  summer,  when  har 
2 


14  AUDUBON   THE  NATURALIST. 

vests  are  ripened  into  gold,  and  orchards  bow 
their  laden  branches,  gentle  breezes  waft  the 
scent  of  richest  flowers,  and  the  woods  are  melo- 
dious with  song,  the  free-hearted  Kentuckiana 
assemble  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  a  Barbecue. 
No  invitation  is  given,  because  every  one  is 
welcome.  For  a  week  or  more,  all  have  been 
busy  clearing  an  area  for  the  assembly.  The 
undergrowth  cut  down  and  the  low  branches 
lopped  off,  the  grass  alone  is  left — a  beautifully 
enameled  pavilion.  Wagons  loaded  with  con- 
tributions from  every  inhabitant  of  the  State ; 
oxen,  hams,  turkeys,  venison  and  fowls,  wend 
their  way  to  the  spot.  Flagons  of  every  bev- 
erage, and  fruits  of  every  kind  arrive  too  for 
the  feast.  Columns  of  smoke  from  the  kindled 
fires  rise  above  the  trees,  fifty  or  more  cooks 
bustle  to  and  fro,  while  waiters  disperse  dishes, 
glasses  and  punch-bowls,  and  vases  crimsoned 
with  rich  wines.  Everything  announces  a  ban- 
quet, as  joyous  groups  emerge  from  out  the 
dark  recesses  of  the  woods.  White-robed 
maidens  on  their  palfreys,  and  youthful  horse- 
men on  prancing  steeds  advance  like  the  bril- 
liant cortege  of  a  tournament. 

Soon  the  wdiole  arena  resounds  with  merri- 
ment. A  huge  cannon  gives  forth  a  salute,  and 
a  thousand  cheers  mingle  with  its  echoes.  It  is 
succeeded  by  orations,  scmetimes  eloquent,  and 


A  WOODLAND  SCENE.  15 

always  patriotic.  The  visitors  then  proceed  to 
the  tables  groaning  under  the  choice  stores 
of  Kentucky's  prolific  land.  To  toasts  and 
speeches  succeed  the  dance — groups  in  fairy- 
like attire,  fluttering  in  the  woodland  recesses, 
loc  king  like  the  meeting  of  divinities  of  clas- 
sic story,  or  the  genii  of  mytholigic  lore. 

In  the  hilarity  of  the  fete,  all  unhesitatingly 
mingle — no  ball-room  etiquette,  artifice  or  pomp 
to  alloy  their  pleasures.  Some,  ignoring  the 
dance,  show  their  dexterity  at  the  rifle,  or  dis- 
play the  swiftness  of  their  fine  Virginian 
coursers ;  hunters  relate  their  exploits,  and  tra- 
vellers tell  their  tales. 

At  length  comes  the  preparation  for  depar- 
ture, when,  loth  to  separate,  the  lover  hastens  to 
escort  his  fair  one,  friend  seizes  the  arm  of  friend, 
families  gather  into  loving  groups  for  their 
homeward  journey,  and  so  ends  a  Kentucky 
Barbecue. 

A  rare  fertility  characterizes  the  State  of  Ken- 
tucky as  it  verges  southwards  toward  the  lands 
of  Tennessee.  Here  a  sweep  of  the  so-called 
u  Barrens"  may  be  seen  enameled  with  flowers, 
numberless,  and  richly  dyed,  over  which  the 
south  wind  blows,  wafting  their  fragrance,  01 
clothed  with  magnificent  crops  of  Indian  corn, 
from  ten  to  fifteen  feet  in  height,  of  tobacco,  or 
of  wheat  waving  and  golden. 


16  AUDTTBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

This  luxuriance  contrasts  picturesquely  with 
the  northern  portions  of  the  country.  These, 
dreary  and  wild,  present  only  hills  of  sand,  01 
lines  of  rugged  cliff,  amidst  which  here  and  there 
a  torrent  dashes  with  menacing  roar,  and  far 
winding  gorges,  dark  and  deep,  are  suddenly 
disclosed  by  the  juttings  of  the  crag,  to  the  dis- 
may of  the  travellers.  Savage  wildernesses, 
too,  terrible  as  Dante's  solitude,  are  there,  which, 
abounding  in  legendary  interest,  are  renowned 
in  Kentuckian  story,  and  form  not  the  least  attri- 
bute of  these  strange  romantic  regions.  There 
it  was  that  the  Indians,  driven  from  their  origi- 
nal territories,  or  hunting  grounds,  took  up  a 
position  to  wage  a  relentless  war  with  their  ag- 
gressors, whose  strength  was  tested  in  many  a 
fierce  encounter  with  the  swarthy  Shawnees. 
Still  to  these  memorable  tracts  does  many  a 
"sporting  party"  resort,  where  the  remains  of 
rough  built  tents  tell  of  the  invincible  hunter- 
warriors,  who  once  held  them  as  their  own. 
Dauntless  heroes  of  a  different  race  existed,  how- 
ever, ready  to  dispute  the  possession  of  every 
inch  of  Kentucky  land  with  the  tawny  settlers, 
liarrod  and  Boone  were  distinguished  among 
them,  but  even  they  were  surpassed  in  bravery, 
by  one  whose  matchless  skill  in  contest,  whose 
ruthless  ferocity  and  indomitable  daring  were 
bo  remarkable,  as  to  be  regarded  by  the  savages 


A    FOREST  CHIEFTAIN.  1? 

as  tlie  result  of  some  fearful  supernatural  agency 
The  superstition  acted  naturally  to  their  detri- 
ment, and  increased  the  power  of  Will  Smith, 
the  Forest  Chieftain,  who,  victor  in  repeated  con- 
tests, they  looked  upon  as  the  evil  genius  of  their 
race — an  instrument  of  vengeance  sent  by  the 
Great  Spirit.  Their  timidity  in  facing  so  terri- 
ble an  enemy  was  the  cause  of  an  irresolution  in 
their  attacks  which  usually  brought  defeat,  and 
facilitated,  of  course,  the  means  of  escape  for  the 
conqueror.  Sometimes  unexpectedly  on  the 
rear  of  his  enemy,  at  others  ahead  of  them,  or 
incomprehensibly  in  the  very  midst  of  the  fray, 
it  seemed  indeed  as  though  the  warrior  had  a 
"  charmed  life."  True  it  was  that  a  spell  hung 
on  the  existence  of  this  extraordinary  man,  who 
lived  under  the  shadow  of  a  great  and  inextin- 
guishable sorrow.  The  bitter  remembrance  of 
this  it  was,  which,  inciting  a  ceaseless  desire  of 
revenge,  was  the  secret  of  his  restless  and  san- 
guinary career.  The  blight  of  misery,  as  a 
plague-taint,  separated  him  from  his  fellow 
men. 

Sternly  and  isolated  he  lived,  for  ever  haunting 
the  war  path  or  the  hunting  trail  of  the  Indians, 
from  which  their  bravest  leaders  disappeared. 
Few  among  the  border  people  approached  or 
ventured  to  address  the  dreaded  chieftain.  A 
mystery  surrounded  him,  which  was  the  source 

2*  n 


18  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

of  perpetual  conjecture,  increased  by  the  very 
circumstance  which  appeared  to  render  it  impro- 
bable it  should  ever  be  solved  ;  for  this  singular 
being  maintained  a  silence  as  unbroken  as  though 
he  were  dumb,  through  which  he  was  commonly 
known  as  the  "  Silent  Hunter." 

This  appearance  of  sullen  reserve  distanced  all, 
and  those  who  otherwise  would  have  compas- 
sionated his  sorrows,  or  perhaps  even  willingly 
have  shared  his  singular  fortunes,  now  denounced 
him  as  a  ruthless  and  reckless  adventurer ;  very 
different  would  have  been  their  judgment,  could 
they  have  penetrated  the  enigma  of  his  solitary 
life,  and  known  how  cruelly  scarred  had  been  a 
heart  once  quickened  by  the  kindest  and  live- 
liest emotions.  Misfortune,  which  at  one  dread 
stroke  had  deprived  him  of  the  realization  of 
happiness  on  earth,  seemed  to  have  deadened 
every  human  hope  and  sympathy,  and  crushed 
every  social  instinct  within  his  heart. 

The  son  of  obscure  emigrants  from  the  Old 
World,  his  first  unhappiness  was  to  be  left  an 
orphan  at  an  early  age.  The  next,  to  be  ap- 
prenticed to  a  farmer  in  North  Carolina,  a  miser- 
able miser,  who  not  only  subjected  the  poor 
boy  to  deprivations  and  the  most  arduous  toils, 
but  proved  a  traitor  to  the  conditions  of  the  in- 
dentures by  which  he  was  bound.  These  in- 
cluded the  privilege  of  receiving  a  general  schoo] 


LOVE  AND  LETTERS.  19 

education,  instead  of  which  young  Smith  was 
not  taught  its  merest  rudiments.  Will,  owing 
in  great  part  to  his  capacity  and  inclination  for 
study,  combined,  doubtless,  with  the  combative 
impulse  often  accompanying  it,  resolved,  never- 
theless to  become  a  scholar.  Happily,  to  aid  his 
good  intention,  he  found  an  instructress,  whose 
amiability  and  skill  rendered  the  task  of  learn- 
ing rather  a  pleasure  than  a  toil.  This  was 
Mattie  Saunders,  the  farmer's  daughter.  Often 
Will's  eyes  would  unconsciously  wander  from 
the  page  to  her  earnest  blue  eyes,  and  then 
would  come  such  sweet  gentle  tones  of  remon- 
strance, that  he  really  could  scarcely  be  sorry 
for  the  offence.  Still  he  made  rapid  progress, 
and  before  long  the  pupil  became  the  teacher. 

In  this  studious  companionship,  as  time  went 
on,  more  than  letters  were  learnt,  though  little 
did  either  Mattie  or  Will  imagine  how  import- 
ant an  influence  would  be  exercised  on  their 
destinies,  by  the  hours  which  glided  so  swiftly 
and  carelessly  by.  They  loved  unconsciously, 
and  the  sweet  secret  of  their  breast  was  first 
made  known  to  them  by  the  father  of  Mattie, 
who  perceived  the  condition  of  affairs,  and  re- 
vealed to  them  their  mutual  misery. 

From  the  time  of  its  discovery,  the  direst 
tyranny,  not  to  say  atrocity  ,v?s  practised  by 
oaunders  towards  the  poor  boy     Deprived   01 


20  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

the  very  necessities  of  existence,  he  was  driven 
in  the  midst  of  winter  to  sleep  with  but  a  single 
threadbare  covering,  on  some  hay  in  a  barn  I 
Such  was  the  endurance  to  which  he  bravely 
submitted  for  his  dear  companion's  sake.  Ilia 
sole  consolation  was  the  sympathy  expressed  by 
Mattie,  during  his  stolen  interviews  with  her. 
She,  no  longer  permitted  to  see  poor  Will,  had 
her  gentle  heart  lacerated,  by  the  knowledge  of 
the  persecution  he  suffered,  without  the  ability  of 
alleviating  the  misery,  of  which  she  knew  her- 
self to  be  the  innocent  cause.  Meek-spirited  and 
tender,  she  was  but  little  fitted  to  oppose  the 
unremitting  severity  of  her  father,  who,  having 
amassed  for  her  a  considerable  fortune,  imagined 
he  did  sufficient  for  her  happiness  by  zealously 
guarding  it.  His  daughter,  even  on  the  ap- 
proach to  womanhood  was  rigorously  watched, 
for  the  idea  of  a  moneyless  suitor  was  distracting 
to  him.  His  malignity,  awakened  by  the  affec- 
tion subsisting  between  Mattie  and  Will,  was 
mercilessly  visited  on  the  forlorn  orphan  boy. 
The  patient  heroism  of  love  alone  could  have 
induced  Will,  naturally  of  a  bold  and  de- 
fiant temper,  to  yield  to  the  degrading  servitude 
he  owned.  But  to  break  from  it  was  to  part 
from  Mattie — that  thought  was  more  grievous 
than  all.  So  he  endured  and  hoped  for  long, 
till  the  increasing  st  verity  of  the  bondage  bo 


A  CHARITABLE  ACT.  21 

came  unbearable.  Incited  by  a  burning  indig- 
nation he  resolved  to  escape,  and  stealing  to 
Mattie's  room  one  night,  told  his  intention. 
The  child  lovers  had  little  time  to  indulge  their 
grief — one  burst  of  tears — one  clasped  embrace, 
and  they  parted.  Mattie's  only  consolation,  the 
last  words  of  her  lover,  that  "  when  he  was  a 
great  man,  he  would  come  back  and  make  her 
his  little  wife." 

With  a  few  crusts  and  some  scraps  of  cloth- 
ing, Will  set  forth  on  his  journey  to  the  Ameri- 
can capital.  Curious  vicissitudes  awaited  him. 
His  scanty  store  was  soon  exhausted,  and  he  was 
compelled  to  beg  his  bread,  and  seek  some 
wretched  shed  for  shelter  at  night. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  it  was  that  he  was 
discovered  by  the  excellent  Judge  Campbell, 
who,  an  early  riser  for  the  charitable  purpose  of 
looking  to  the  welfare  of  his  cattle,  as  well  as  of 
his  household,  on  visiting  his  stables,  was  amazed 
to  find  there  a  pale,  miserable  looking  boy, 
emaciated  with  deprivation  and  hunger.  The 
good  old  man  could  not  refrain  his  tears,  as  he 
exclaimed,  "  Never  while  I  have  a  crust  must 
this  be."  Eemoved  to  the  Judge's  dwelling,  for 
days  the  poor  orphan  vacillated  between  life  and 
death,  unable  to  explain  his  unhapy  situation, 
or  express  his  gratitude  to  his  deliverers.  From 
the  time  that  Will  Smith  was  received  into  the 


22  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

badge's   family,  lie   was  treated  as  one  of  its 
members. 

Through  a  strange  coincidence,  the  very  first 
case  met  with  by  the  Judge,  on  setting  out  for 
the  Circuit  was  that  of  the  "Commonwealth 
versus  Samuel  Saunders,  for  unlawfully  making 
away  with  the  indentured  child,  known  as  Will 
Smith."  Campbell,  delighted  with  the  idea  of 
retribution  on  the  persecutors  of  his  protege, 
whom  he  loved  as  a  son,  gave  it  his  immediate 
attention,  and  compelled  minute  investigation  of 
every  particular  of  the  affair. 

The  trial  was  a  singular  and  terrible  scene. 
Campbell,  severe  and  implacable,  sat  like  ano- 
ther Brutus,  resolved  for  the  sentence. 

Mattie,  too,  the  timid  Mattie  was  present,  pale, 
heartsick,  and  agonized  by  conflicting  feelings. 
The  novelty  of  her  situation,  and  its  publicity, 
were  sufficient  alone  to  overwhelm  her  gentle 
nature,  in  addition  to  which  she  had  the  misery 
to  witness  her  parent's  disgrace,  and  was  dis- 
tracted by  the  conviction,  that  Willie,  her  sole 
hope  and  only  friend,  was  lost  to  her  for  ever. 
Saunders,  trembling  and  conscious,  awaited  the 
verdict,  which  came  as  a  death  knell  on  his  ears, 
as  in  a  solemn  tone  of  denunciation  "  guilty" 
sounded  through  the  unbroken  hush  of  the 
court.  At  that  instant  the  sound  of  carriage 
wheels  told  an  arrival,  and  sent  a  murmuring 


LIGHT   ON  THE   HORIZON.  23 

.agitation  through  the  crowd.  The  excitement 
was  told  by  the  eager  curiosity  of  the  people's 
gaze,  to  learn  the  cause.  Even  Mattie  was 
roused  from  the  stupor  of  despair  into  which 
she  had  sunk.  A  strange  vague  hope  awe  ke  in 
heT  breast,  and  scarcely  could  she  conceive  the 
marvellous  reality,  as  she  beheld  enter  one  whom 
she  could  not  mistake,  but  so  pale,  attenuated, 
as  to  seem  indeed  rather  a  spectre  than  a  living 
being.  But  it  was  the  lost  one,  her  welhre- 
membered  companion,  whose  sudden  appearance 
created  a  sensation  impossible  to  describe.  His 
persecutor,  horrified  at  the  sight  of  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  an  apparition,  swooned,  and  was 
taken  from  court. 

The  result  was,  that  the  conditions  of  the  boy's 
indentures  were  declared  by  the  jury  to  be  for- 
feited, and  the  sorest  sting  of  all  to  the  miser — 
he  was  compelled  to  aid  in  the  support  and  edu- 
cation of  the  boy,  until  he  attained  his  majority. 

A  new  light  thus  broke  on  the  horizon,  hith- 
erto so  dark  and  troubled  for  Will  Smith.  Dili- 
gent in  improving  the  advantages  afforded  him, 
before  long  he  enjoyed  the  honourable  position 
of  a  successful  young  barrister,  and  the  old 
Judge  on  his  retirement,  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  his  own  career  renewed  in  that  of  his 
adopted  son,  as  he  listened  often  in  an  ecstasy  of 
admiration  to   his   brilliant  vigourous  oratory 


2-4  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

But  the  most  delighting  triumph  of  all  to  Will 
was,  that  he  could  now  claim  his  blue-eyed  love, 
Mattie,  as  his  own.  In  defiance  of  opposition, 
he  took  her  for  his  bride.  Years  of  unalloyed 
happiness  were  the  reward  of  his  trials  and  hia 
toils.  Care,  sorrow,  endurance  were  forgotten, 
even  ambition  slumbered,  while  he  basked  in 
the  contest  of  his  new-found  joy. 

But  changes  awaited  him.  The  noble  contest 
for  freedom  and  independence  arose,  and  then 
all  that  was  elevated  and  unselfish  in  his  nature 
awoke.  "Wealth,  ease,  were  relinquished  with 
the  ready  consent  of  Mattie,  joyful  if  her  beloved 
remained  at  her  side.  Will's  services  in  his 
country's  cause  were  unremitting  and  effectual. 
His  sincerity  was  proved  by  the  sacrifice  of  his 
entire  fortune ;  for  the  conclusion  of  hostilities 
saw  him  a  beggar,  the  result  of  his  hardly 
earned  possessions  flown !  Energy  and  enter- 
prise he  knew  must  open  a  fresh  path  of  pro- 
gress for  him.  The  glorious  lands  beyond  the 
Alleghanies  offered  the  best  resource ;  and 
thither  he  resolved,  if  Mattie  would  accompany 
him,  to  repair.  He  met  with  no  remonstrance 
from  his  sweet  wife.  Her  whitening  cheek  alone 
told  the  one  pang  of  consent. 

The  journey  was  long  and  arduous,  but  the 
travellers  found  compensation  in  the  stimulua 
of  novelty,  as  well  as  in  the  charms  of  the  lovely 


A  MEMORABLE  JOURNEY.  25 

scenes  presented  by  the  new-found  lands,  already 
bearing  a  semblance  of  civilization  from  the  nu- 
merous forts  and  settlements  which  appeared. 
Will,  having  arrived  on  the  borders  of  the  Sink- 
ing River,  deposited  there  his  family  with  a 
powerful  guard  in  camp  as  their  defence,  while 
he,  careful  to  secure  further  supplies,  pressed  on 
to  meet  his  friend  Boone  at  a  given  spot.  Six 
days  only  he  was  absent,  six  evenuui,  memora- 
ble days.  Doubly  long  seemed  the  separation 
to  Will's  loving  heart.  He  hurriedly  sought 
the  spot  where  all  that  was  precious  on  earth  to 
him  remained — consecrated  as  home  by  one 
blest  presence. 

He  perceived  with  astonishment  the  camp 
broken  up,  and  the  few  remaining  emigrants  re- 
treating. Hastening  after  them,  he  sternly  de- 
manded his  wife  and  children  of  those  whom  he 
had  constituted  their  guardians. 

"  You  will  find  them  where  you  left  them ; 
ask  the  Shawnees,  they  can  tell  you  the  rest," 
was  the  reply.  "Traitors,"  exclaimed  Smith, 
"you  have  neglected  your  trust,  they  are  mur- 
dered I"  Then  with  a  sudden  spring  at  the 
throat  of  the  hunter  who  had  spoken,  he  hurled 
him  to  the  ground,  and  without  turning  to  see 
the  result,  the  wretched  man  returned  to  the 
camp. 

He  was  found  there  stretched  on  the  floor  be- 


26  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 


side  the  lifeless  remains  of  his  Mattie  and  his 
children,  whom  he  alternately  embraced.  He 
then  rose,  and  silently  and  with  an  awful  solem- 
nity proceeded  to  work  for  hours,  until  a  grave 
was  formed,  large  and  deep,  in  which  he  placed 
side  by  side  his  treasures.  Their  youngest-born 
lay  on  the  fair  mother's  breast,  the  eldest  with  the 
death  frown  of  a  hero  on  his  brow,  still  grasped 
the  rifle  with  which  he  had  vainly  sought  to 
combat  the  deadly  foe  !  The  miserable  father, 
having  completed  his  task,  erected  a  small 
pile  of  stones  where  reposed  the  remains  of  his 
all  of  earthly  bliss.  Then  snatching  up  his  rifle 
in  one  hand,  with  the  other  he  waved  a  farewell 
to  his  companions,  and  disappeared  following 
the  track  of  the  Shawnees. 

He  never  left  that  track.  For  years  he 
haunted  the  hunting  grounds  of  the  Shawnees, 
slaying  them  as  they  slept,  or  as  they  sat  at 
their  feasts,  or  as  they  groped  in  the  paths  of  the 
forest.  Gradually,  such  numbers  had  fallen  un- 
der his  terrible  rifle,  that  he  was  dreaded  as  the 
phantom  of  murder,  and  the  Shawnees  deserted 
their  old  resorts  on  the  banks  of  the  Green  River. 
As  the  last  of  their  canoes  dropped  down  the 
stream,  a  bullet  struck  one  of  its  crew,  who  fell 
iuto  the  water,  dead.  The  others  looked  up, 
and  saw  their  fearful  enemy  retiring  into  the 
forest.     A  simple   stone   sarcophagus,  such   as 


TOMB   OF   THE   SILENT   HUNTER.  27 

are  common  in  Kentucky,  marks  the  resting- 
place  of  the  "Silent  Hunter,"  whose  singular 
and  melancholy  history  has  more  than  once  lent 
its  romantic  interest  to  fiction 


28  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 


CHAPTER    III. 

A  UDUBON  continued  to  make  valuable  ad- 
-^*-  ditions  to  his  collection,  until  his  portfo- 
lio was  enriched  by  nearly  two  hundred  draw- 
ings. He  received  the  most  friendly  assistance 
from  Gait,  the  botanist,  Ferguson  and  others. 
Thus  welcomed  and  encouraged,  perhaps  no 
epoch  of  his  life  was  happier ;  nor  can  we  imag- 
ine pleasanter  pictures  than  those  afforded  by 
the  hours  of  hospitable  entertainment,  friendly 
intercourse,  and  communings  of  love  at  Louis- 
ville. One  circumstance  which  occurred  during 
his  residence  there,  in  1810,  seems  to  have  been 
especially  remembered  by  him.  He  was  sur- 
prised by  a  visit  from  the  celebrated  Alexander 
Wilson,  author  of  the  American  Ornithology, 
of  whose  existence  even  he  had  been  in  igno- 
rance until  then.  The  peculiarity  of  Wilson's 
countenance  and  appearance  was  vividly  retained 
in  Audubon's  memory,  impressed  probably  more 
particularly  from  the  strangeness  of  the  con- 
nected circumstances. 

His  long  hooked  nose,  keen  eyes  and  promi 


ALEXANDER  WILSON.  29 

nent  cheek  bones,  were  unfavourably  united  tc 
a  stature  not  above  the  middle  height.  Hia 
dress,  consisting  of  a  short  coat,  trousers  ana 
waistcoat  of  gray  cloth,  was  one  unfrequent  "id 
that  part  of  the  country.  His  object  in  calling 
was  to  secure  Audubon's  patronage  and  a  fresh 
subscription  for  his  work.  Audubon^  on  the 
eve  of  assenting  to  his  request,  was  arrested 
by  an  interrogation  from  a  friend,  with  an  ac- 
panying  suggestion — that  his  own  drawings 
were  far  superior.  Whether  from  vanity, 
which  too  willingly  corroborated  the  assertion, 
or  a  conscientious  conviction  of  its  truth,  Au 
dubon  then  declined  to  subscribe. 

The  astonishment  of  Wilson,  on  examining 
the  collection  of  Audubon  was  as  great  as  had 
been  his  on  recognizing  a  fellow  labourer.  Pur- 
suing the  same  objects  and  proposing  the  same 
ends,  they  had  remained  in  entire  ignorance  of 
each  other's  inquiries  and  achievements ;  and 
like  too  many  students  toiling  in  solitude  to  la- 
borious discoveries,  were  surprised  and  disap- 
pointed to  find  them  forestalled. 

Audubon  strove  to  efface  the  annoyance,  evi- 
dently caused  through  his  dissent,  by  every 
friendly  demonstration  to  Wilson,  even  offering 
to  allow  him  to  publish  the  results  of  his  own 
researches,  which  he  had  not  the  intention  of 
doing  himself  at  that  time,  with  the  condition 
3* 


SO  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

only,  that  their  origin  should  be  mentioned 
The  proposal  was,  however,  declined.  Wilson 
departed,  leaving  Audubon  disagreeably  per- 
plexed as  to  what  reminiscence  of  this  singular 
occurrence  would  be  retained  by  him.  To  hia 
regret  he  was  enlightened,  afterwards,  on  read- 
ing the  following  paragraph  in  "  Wilson's  Or- 
nithology." 

"  March  23d,  1810.— I  bade  adieu  to  Louis 
viile,  to  which  place  I  had  four  letters  of  recom 
mendation,  and  was  taught  to  expect  much  of 
everything  there ;  but  neither  received  one  act 
of  civility  from  those  to  whom  I  was  recom- 
mended, one  subscriber,  nor  one  new  bird; 
though  I  delivered  my  letters,  ransacked  the 
woods  repeatedly,  and  visited  all  the  characters 
likely  to  subscribe.  Science  or  literature  haa 
not  one  friend  in  this  place." 

This  bitter  record  of  disappointment, — cer- 
tainly, in  some  measure  justified  by  Audubon, 
— then,  apparently,  under  the  happiest  auspices, 
for  his  own  success,  was  felt  by  him  as  a  lasting 
alloy  in  his  pleasurable  associations  with  Louis- 
ville. After  a  residence  there  of  two  years,  Au- 
dubon's next  dwelling  was  at  Henderson,  on  the 
Ohio,  whither  he  repaired  in  1811.  Kemark- 
able  fertility  of  soil  characterizes  the  Kent  tick- 
ian  State.  The  beauty  of  its  borders,  extend- 
ing along  the  margin  of  the  most  magnificent  of 


THE   PASSENGER   PIGEON.  3l 

rivers,  its  forests,  streams,  springs  and  caves, 
its  verdurous  heights  and  charming  valleya 
must  have  rendered  this  abiding  place  nothing 
inferior  in  attraction,  to  Louisville.  Here  he 
remained  for  several  years,  and  unfaltering  in  en- 
terprise, added  fresh  stores  to  his  ornithological 
lore.  Among  the  most  interesting  of  his  obser- 
vations were  those  relative  to  the  character  and 
habits  of  that  bird  of  romantic  tradition — 
the  passenger  pigeon.  The  flight  of  this  bird 
is  performed  with  singular  rapidity.  With 
shrewd  caution,  it  breaks  the  force  of  its  de- 
scent by  repeated  flappings  as  it  nears  the 
earth,  from  dread  of  injury  on  alighting  too 
suddenly.  Its  migrations,  which  are  for  the 
purpose  of  securing  food,  and  not  on  account 
of  temperature,  do  not,  therefore  take  place  at 
any  fixed  season.  It  remains  for  several  years 
in  Kentucky.  This  is  owing,  probably,  to  the 
exuberant  fertility  of  the  soil,  the  passenger 
pigeon  requiring,  apparently,  a  plentiful  supply 
of  food,  equivalent  to  its  powers  of  digestion, 
whi:h  are  as  extraordinary  as  its  capacity  of 
flight. 

These  aerial  passengers,  travelling  at  the  rate 
of  four  hundred  miles  in  six  hours,  are  enabled, 
if  so  inclined,  to  visit  the  whole  European  con- 
tinent in  two  or  three  days.  They  are  facilitated 
in  the  object  for  which  they  fly — the  discovery 


32  AUDUBON"   THE   NATURALIST. 

of  food — by  the  keenness  of  their  vision,  so  thaA 
when  skimming  a  barren  track,  they  soar  high, 
with  extended  front,  in  order  to  survey  hundreds 
of  acres  at  once.  Finding  the  earth  abundantly 
supplied,  they  fly  low ;  and,  when  enticed  to 
alight  by  a  particularly  plentiful  spot,  they  hover 
round  in  circles  to  review  it.  The  dense  mass 
they  then  form,  presents,  during  its  evolutions, 
the  most  beautiful  appearances ;  now  a  glistening 
sheet  of  azure, — when  their  backs  are  in  view ; 
and,  again,  by  sudden  simultaneous  change,  a 
canopy  of  rich  deep  purple.  Lost  for  a  moment, 
midst  the  foliage,  they  again  emerge,  and,  flap- 
ping their  wings,  with  a  rushing  noise,  as  of 
distant  thunder,  sweep  through  the  forests  to 
see  if  danger  is  near.  Their  aerial  motions  are 
so  extraordinary  as  to  resemble  the  action  of 
military  discipline.  In  the  process  of  throwing 
up  the  withered  leaves,  in  search  of  food,  the 
rear  ranks  pass  continuously  over  the  main 
body,  alighting  in  front,  in  such  rapid  succes- 
sion, that  the  whole  force  seems  still  on  wing. 
If  menaced  by  a  hawk,  they  rise  suddenly  with 
the  might  of  a  torrent,  and  pressing  into  a  solid 
mass,  dart  forward  in  undulating  lines,  descend 
and  sweep  close  over  the  earth  with  wonderful 
velocity,  mount  perpendicularly  in  a  ^ast  co- 
lumn, and,  when  high  aloft,  wheel  and  twist 
within  their  lines,  which  then  resemble  the  coils 


BARRENS  OF   KENTUCKY.  3& 

of  a  gigantic  serpent.  Multitudes  are  seen,  some- 
times, in  groups,  at  the  estimate  of  a  hundred 
and  sixty-three  flocks  in  twenty-one  minutes. 
The  noonday  light  is  then  darkened  as  by  an 
eclipse,  and  the  air  filled  with  the  dreamy  buz- 
zing of  their  wings. 

Not  unfrequently  a  terrible  massacre  of  these 
birds  takes  place,  when  an  armed  company  of 
men  and  boys  assemble  on  the  banks  of  the 
Ohio  for  their  destruction.  Great  pomp  attends 
the  cruel  victory — a  camp  is  formed,  fires  are 
lighted,  and  overpowering  is  the  din  and  con- 
fusion of  the  contest.  Enormous  quantities  are 
destroyed,,  and  the  remains  left  unappropriated 
on  the  ground.  Spite  of  these  devastations,  the 
number  of  the  birds  is  always  doubled,  and  often 
quadrupled  yearly. 

But  more  terrible  to  the  winged  tribes,  than 
forest  crusades,  sweeping  with  desolation  through 
the  woods  like  tornadoes,  are  the  earthquakes, 
which  menace  a  traveller  over  those  vast  and 
dreary  plains — the  famed  Barrens  of  Kentucky. 
Wandering  over  them  one  November  afternoon, 
Audubon  was  surprised  by  a  sudden  and  strange 
darkness,  spreading  from  the  western  horizon. 
Regarding  it  as  the  forerunner  only  of  one  of 
the  hurricanes,  a  storm  to  which  he  was  well 
used,  without  further  apprehension,  he  merely 
spuiTed  his  horse  to  reach  the  sheltering  roof  of 


34  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

a  friend  not  far  distant.  But  the  animal  witn 
the  intuition  of  fear,  instead  of  hastening,  pro 
ceeded  slowly,  and  with  a  caution,  as  if  treading 
a  sheet  of  ice. 

Imagining  that  he  faltered,  Audubon  was  on 
the  point  of  dismounting  to  lead  him,  when  the 
animal,  spreading  out  his  fore  legs,  hanging  hip 
head  and  groaning  piteously,  appeared  as  if  ar 
rested  by  the  stroke  of  death.  Audubon,  al- 
ready dismayed  at  his  desolate  situation,  the 
melancholy  of  his  solitude,  and  the  misfortune 
of  his  failing  horse, — his  only  companion  and 
assistance — now  beheld  with  awe  the  extraor- 
dinary appearance  of  the  elements,  the  whole 
creation  seeming  under  the  influence  of  some 
strange  and  calamitous  phenomenon.  Shrubs 
and  trees  were  agitated  from  their  very  roots ; 
the  ground  rose  and  fell  in  undulations,  like  the 
waves  of  a  stormy  sea,  ready  to  engulph  all 
within  its  grasp.  At  that  perilous  moment  what 
mnst  have  been  the  sensations  of  Audubon ; 
transfixed  with  terror,  rocked  to  and  fro  upon 
his  shuddering  horse,  the  subterranean  roar  of 
the  convulsion,  mingling  with  the  vision  of  a 
menacing  abyss,  which  he  anticipated  every  mo- 
ment would  open  for  his  destruction.  Separated 
by  miles  from  his  family,  apprehensions  for  their 
safety  added  fresh  tortures  to  his  situation. 
Should  he  ever  return  to  seek  them?    Would 


A   WESTERN"   WEDDING.  3A 

they  still  exist  to  greet  him?  Imaginations, 
hopes,  fears,  rose  rapidly  and  flitted  alternately 
— a  phantom-like  company — before  his  mind, 
which,  tumultuous  and  bewildered,  shared  the 
agjnizing  struggle  of  creation  around.  Speedily 
as  it  rose,  the  vision  of  despair  passed  by.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  heavens,  serenely  sunlit  and 
glad,  seemed  to  express  to  the  eye  of  Faith  the 
immutability  of  the  eternal  promise. 

Audubon's  horse,  relieved  from  its  fears,  no 
longer  needed  the  spur,  but  galloped  as  if  as 
eager  as  his  master  to  escape  another  such  ad- 
venture. These  visitations  are  generally  fol- 
lowed by  slighter  shocks,  which  occur  almost 
every  day  or  night  for  several  weeks.  Gradually 
they  subside  into  little  more  than  mere  vibra- 
tions. One  of  these  happening  during  Audu- 
bon's visit  to  his  friend,  was,  strangely  enough, 
not  only  unattended  with  calamitous  conse- 
quences, but  through  the  unfounded  apprehen- 
sions to  which  it  gave  rise,  an  additional  incentive 
to  the  rare  merriment  which  renders  a  wedding 
in  the  western  country  a  truly  festive  occasion. 
The  ceremony  having  been  performed,  supper 
over,  and  instruments  tuned,  dancing  became 
the  order  of  the  moment.  It  was  kept  up  till  a 
late  hour,  the  guests  encouraged  by  the  hilarity 
of  their  host.  Being  a  physician,  his  urbanity 
was  opportunely  increased  by  the  preservation 


36  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

of  some  drugs  in  jars  and  phials,  lancets,  ampu 
tating  knives,  and  other  sanguinary  apparatus, 
which,  filling  a  corner  of  his  large  and  solidly 
built  log  house,  had  a  few  days  before  narrowly 
escaped  destruction  through  the  shock.  At 
length  all  retired  to  rest — some  to  be  haunted 
by  bright  faces,  sighs  and  smiles ;  others  to  sink 
into  pleasing  dreams  or  oblivion  as  delightful. 
But  oh !  "  that  on  night  so  blest  such  awful 
morn  should  rise !"  Instead  of  tender  accents 
and  soft  sighs,  gentle  ears  were  greeted  at  dawn 
by  the  rumbling  noise  of  the  agitated  earth. 
Unhesitating  demonstrations  of  true  terror  were 
exchanged  for  the  silently  endured  apprehen- 
sions, or  timid  avowal  of  less  overwhelming  emo 
tions.  Young  and  old  anticipating  instant  de- 
struction, rushed  wildly  into  the  grass  enclosure 
fronting  the  building,  terrified  at  the  creaking  of 
the  log-house,  to  mingle  again  in  a  general  as- 
sembly— this  time,  however,  as  disorderly  and 
incongruous  as  that  of  the  spirits  meeting  in 
Macbeth. 

Meanwhile  the  full  moon  slowly  descended 
from  her  throne,  attended  by  a  stately  retinue  of 
dark  clouds  intervening,  as  if  to  conceal  from 
her  placid  saintly  gaze  the  confusion  of  the  scene 
below.  Thus  the  ladies  in  their  frail  and  partial 
attire  were  happily  veiled  in  appropriate  obscu- 
rity, and  recognitions  to  the  discomfiture  of  the 


THE  WHIP-POOR-WILL.  37 

following  morning  avoided.  The  earth  continued 
to  heave  before  the  wind,  the  birds  to  fly  hither 
and  thither,  while  the  doctor  was  mindful  of  the 
gallipots  in  his  store-room. 

In  the  bewilderment  of  his  distress,  forgetful 
of  closing  the  door,  spreading  out  his  arms,  jump- 
ing before  his  glass  cases,  and  pushing  back  the 
falling  jars,  he  assisted  the  catastrophe  with  so 
much  success,  that,  before  the  shock  was  over, 
all  his  possessions  were  lost.  The  ladies,  con- 
scious at  length  of  their  dishabille,  and  intimi- 
dated now  from  a  different  motive,  fled  in  dismay 
to  their  several  apartments. 

In  the  mountains,  or  more  sterile  portions  of 
the  Union,  as  in  the  open  Barrens  of  Kentucky, 
it  is  that  the  curious  note  of  the  whip-poor-will 
is  heard.  It  is  seldom  seen  during  the  day,  when 
it  seeks  some  shady  spot  for  its  slumbers,  hav- 
ing for  a  couch,  generally,  the  low  branches  of 
trees  and  shrubs.  Commencing  its  labours  with 
the  disappearance  of  the  sun,  it  then  passes  over 
the  bushes,  sweeps  repeatedly  in  different  direc- 
tions over  the  fields,  and  skims  the  skirts  of 
forests,  alighting  occasionally  on  the  ground,  to 
secure  insects  as  its  prey.  Its  flight  is  low,  light, 
and  swift.  So  noiseless  is  the  motion  of  its  wings, 
as  to  be  inaudible  by  a  person,  even  within  a  few 
feet  of  it, — it  is  recognized  in  the  darkness  only 
by  the  low  murmuring  sound  it  utters,  and  the 


a  K 


88  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

gentle  undulation  caused  in  the  air  by  its  pas 
sage. 

By  Audubon,  wandering  midst  solitudes  where 
the  grandeur  of  nature  acquires  sublimity  from 
the  eternal  repose  of  all  around,  its  loud,  clear 
notes  were  gratefully  welcomed,  when,  exhausted 
and  hungry,  after  a  day  of  uninterrupted  toil, 
the  darkness  of  night  compelled  him  to  set  his 
camp  in  the  wilderness.  Under  such  circum- 
stances, more  melodious  than  song  of  nightin- 
gale, was  the  cheering  voice  of  the  whip-poor- 
will — his  sole  companion.  For  the  whip-poor- 
will  continues  to  sing  several  hours  after  sunset. 
It  then  continues  silent  till  early  dawn,  when, 
along  the  declivities  of  the  mountains,  and 
through  every  valley,  its  shrill  note  re-echoes 
till  the  clouds  which  darkened  the  fair  face  of 
nature  are  dispersed,  and  break  into  gladness  at 
the  sun's  majestic  coming.  Hundreds  of  these 
birds  then  assemble  in  the  woods,  and  emulate 
each  other  in  a  chorus.  They  receive  their 
name  from  the  fancied  resemblance  of  their  note 
to  the  words  whip-poor-will.  Their  migrations 
southward,  as  well  as  their  toils,  are  performed 
by  night.  Audubon  unhesitatingly  pronounced 
this  species  distinct  from  the  night  hawk. 

About  the  middle  of  March,  in  the  forests  of 
Louisiana,  the  song  of  the  chuck- will's- widow 
its  interesting  relative,   may  be  heard.      It  is 


THE   CHUCK-WILl/S-WIDOW.  39 

seldom  seen  beyond  the  limits  of  the  Carolinas, 
but  abounds  in  the  lower  portions  of  Alabama 
and  Georgia.  Repairing  thither  from  Mexico 
and  still  warmer  regions,  it  may  be  regarded  as 
the  sign  of  Spring.  The  resorts  of  these  birds 
arc  deep  ravines,  shady  swamps  and  pine  ridges. 
If  surprised  in  their  roosting  places — for  the 
most  part  the  hollows  of  trees,  where  they  lodge, 
in  company  with  bats — instead  of  trying  to 
make  their  escape,  they  heroically  assume  the 
defensive,  retire  to  the  farthest  corners  of  their 
retreat,  ruffle  all  their  feathers  in  great  rage,  and 
open  their  mouths  to  the  widest  while  they  utter, 
menacingly,  a  snakelike  hissing.  These  birde 
show  a  remarkable  attachment  to  certain  loca- 
lities for  their  rest  or  enjoyment.  Like  the 
whip-poor-will,  so  accustomed  are  they  to  take 
their  ease  in  a  dim  retreat  till  twilight,  that,  if 
seized  and  brought  to  the  light  of  day,  they  open 
and  shut  their  eyes,  as  though  unable  to  bear  it 
As  swift  as  its  relative  when  on  wing,  the  flight 
of  the  chuck-will's-widow  is  even  more  grace- 
ful and  elevated.  It  is  performed  by  easy  flap- 
pings, combined  with  sailing  and  curving  mo- 
tions, so  elegant,  that  when  seen  soaring  in  the 
air  over  cotton  fields  or  sugar  plantations,  mount- 
ing and  descending  with  the  dexterity  and  grace 
of  a  Taglioni,  accompanying  its  evolutions  with 
a  low  murmuring  sound,  it  seems  a  very  flying 


40  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

fairy  of  the  night.  During  these  nocturnal 
journeys,  in  pursuit  of  food,  suddenly  its  course 
is  checked — a  moth  or  beetle  secured — when, 
continuing  its  flight,  it  passes  and  repasses  hun- 
dreds of  times  over  the  same  ground.  Alight- 
ing on  the  tallest  plant,  it  utters  its  note  with 
unusual  vivacity.  Again  on  wing,  it  gives 
chase  to  insects  in  the  air,  at  intervals  skilfully 
poising  itself  upon  the  trunks  of  trees,  in  this 
manner  ingeniously  seizing  the  insects  on  the 
bark,  while  enabled,  at  the  same  time,  to  inspect 
the  whole  tree  in  search  of  prey.  The  curious 
sound  of  its  clear  and  powerful  note — chuck- 
will's-widow — repeated  six  or  seven  times  in 
as  many  seconds,  forerunning,  as  it  does,  a  calm 
and  peaceful  night,  comes,  borne  along  the  winds 
with  a  soothing  pensive  pleasure  to  the  listener. 
Its  song  is  soldom  heard  in  cloudy  weather,  and 
never  during  rain.  It  is  singular,  that  though 
this  bird  exhibits  the  domestic  affections  in  a 
remarkable  degree,  it  forms  no  nest  for  the  pre- 
servation of  its  young.  A  little  hollow,  care- 
lessly scratched  among  dried  leaves,  is  the  only 
deposit  for  its  eggs.  This  seems,  indeed,  rather 
the  result  of  extraordinary  instinct  than  of  ne- 
glect, since,  owing  to  no  appearance  of  an  aerial 
habitation  existing  to  attract  attention,  the  eggs 
are  seldom  found,  without  great  difficulty.  Should 
they  be  meddled  with,  it  is  instantly  perceived  by 


BILLING  AND   COOING.  41 

the  parents,  who,  ruffling  their  feathers,  with 
every  sign  of  distress,  and  uttering  a  low  plain- 
tive cry,  fly  close  along  the  ground,  bearing  the 
eggs  in  their  mouths  to  some  other  verdurous 
and  hidden  retreat. 

The  wooing  of  these  amiable  birds  is  attended 
with  demonstrations  as  elaborate  as  those  attend 
ing  the  courtesies  of  the  most  refined  society.  A 
permissible  degree  of  pomposity  is  showed  by  the 
male,  who,  alighting  before  his  love,  with  droop 
ing  wings,  sings  his  appeal,  with  the  most  persua- 
sive eloquence,  whilst  the  lady,  at  first,  silent 
and  coy,  is  soon  won  ;  when,  leaving  the  branch, 
they  gambol  through  the  air  together. 


42  AUDUBOU     THE   NATURALIST 


CHAPTER    IT. 

I  \UBIXG  tlie  residence  of  Audubon  at  Hen- 
*^  deraon,  his  attention,  notwithstanding  his 
numerous  ornithological  researches,  was  not  un- 
frequently  directed  to  other  kinds  of  scientific 
pursuits  or  exercises,  more  properly  termed, 
perhaps,  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  State,  Ken- 
tucky sports.  The  origin  of  that  peculiar  incli- 
nation and  aptitude  shown  by  the  Kentuckians 
for  the  warlike  diversions  of  nail  driving, 
squirrel  barking,  and  candle  snuffing,  is  not 
improbably  the  long  and  sanguinary  contest 
between  the  Virginian  settlers  and  the  Indians, 
which  took  place  before  the  superiority  of 
the  former  could  be  established  in  the  State. 
The  settlers,  incited  by  the  indomitable  courage 
of  their  renowned  leader,  and  attracted  by  the 
wild  luxuriance  of  the  uncultivated  soil,  pressed 
with  the  unequalled  enterprise  of  Americans, 
regardless  of  endurance,  danger,  or  defeat,  to- 
waids  the  shores  of  the  Ohio.  With  an  axe,  a 
couple  of  horses,  a  heavy  rifle,  and  store  of  am- 
munition, but  with  very  light  proviiion,  trusting 


JOUKNEY   TO   THE   OHIO.  43 

to  the  exuberance  of  the  land  to  supply  his  wants, 
a  man  sets  forth  with  his  family.  Guided  only  by 
the  sun  through  dark  and  tangled  forests,  they 
pushed  on,  till  compelled  by  weariness,  they 
sought  repose  on  the  bare  earth  at  night.  Num- 
berless streams  were  crossed  on  rafts,  women  and 
children  imitating  the  courage  of  the  adven- 
turers. Luggage  and  possessions  were  landed 
with  greater  difficulty,  for  the  cattle,  tempted  by 
the  rich  pasturage,  roved  away,  causing  a  de- 
lay of  days.  Meanwhile  the  wanderers  were 
tortured  with  dread  of  the  prowling  ruthless  In- 
dians harassing  their  march  or  menacing  their 
slumbers.  Some,  travelling  under  pleasanter 
auspices  were  attended  by  wagons  and  negroes. 
An  advance  guard  cut  a  way  for  them  through 
the  woods,  and  when  overtaken  by  night,  the 
bold  hunter  attaches  of  the  party,  loaded  with 
the  dainties  of  the  forest,  hastened  to  their  place 
of  encampment. 

Then  it  was  that  the  sounds  of  merriment  told 
all  was  well.  Soon  the  flesh  of  buffaloes  or 
deer  was  laid  in  deliciously-cooked  slices  before 
the  embers,  while  cakes,  flavoured  by  the  rich 
viands,  were  quickly  baked.  Wagon-loads  of 
comfortable  bedding  were  unloaded,  and  horses 
too  had  their  pleasant  recreation  midst  the  lux- 
uriant undergrowth  of  the  woods,  caparisoned 
only  with  a  light  bell  to  guide  their  owners  in 


44  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

the  capture  of  them  the  next  morning.  With 
such  intervals  of  joyous  sociality  months  passed 
before  the  journey  westward  was  accomplished, 
occasional  skirmishes  occurring  between  the  in- 
truders and  the  wily  Indians  who  sometimes 
crept  unperceived  into  the  settlers'  camps. 
Still  cheerfully  they  pressed  on,  till  at  length 
the  land  was  cleared  for  a  permanent  residence. 
On  reaching  the  banks  of  the  Ohio,  some,  in 
primeval  fashion,  constructed  arks  for  a  home 
on  its  inviting  current.  These  arks  or  flat  boats, 
thirty  or  forty  feet  long  and  ten  or  twelve  in 
breadth,  were  considered  so  stupendous  as  to 
hold  men,  women,  children,  cattle,  poultry,  ve- 
getables, and  a  host  of  miscellaneous  wares. 
The  roof  or  deck  constituting  a  farm  yard,  was 
covered  with  hay,  ploughs,  carts,  and  agricultu- 
ral implements — the  spinning  wheel  of  the  mat- 
ron morever  conspicuous  among  them. 

In  these  floating  habitations,  containing  their 
owners'  all,  the  emigrants,  fearful  of  discovery 
by  the  Red  Skins,  denied  themselves  even  fire 
or  light  by  night,  so  fearful  were  they  of  a  sur- 
prise from  the  ferocious  and  ever  watchful  foe. 
Many  an  encounter,  to  the  discomfiture  of  the 
Indian  hordes,  ensued ;  for,  to  the  exercise  of 
the  settler's  courage  on  these  occasions  is  proba- 
bly owing  that  extraordinary  skill  in  the  use  of 


SNUFFING  THE   CANDLE.  45 

the  rifle  exhibited  by  the  Kentuckians  in  their 
Bports. 

A  common  feat  among  these  is  driving  the 
nail.  An  assembly  then  monnt  a  target,  in  the 
centre  of  which  a  nail  is  hammered  for  about 
two-thirds  of  its  length.  Forty  paces  is  consid- 
ered a  proper  distance  for  the  marksmen.  The 
bending  of  the  nail  is  indicative  of  some  skill ; 
but  nothing  short  of  hitting  it  on  the  head  is 
satisfactory :   this  is  called  "  driving  the  nail." 

In  the  flat  land,  thickly  covered  with  black 
walnut,  oaks  and  hickories,  beyond  the  rocky 
margin  of  the  Kentucky  river,  it  is  that  the 
squirrels  are  seen  gamboling  on  every  tree.  To 
hit  with  a  rifle  shot  the  bark  of  the  tree  imme- 
diately beneath  the  squirrel,  and  through  the 
concussion  to  kill  the  animal,  constitutes  the 
cruel  diversion  of  "  barking  a  squirrel." 

There  are  frequently  sporting  expeditions  for 
practice  in  the  woods,  when  fires  may  be  seen 
blazing  through  the  thick  foliage  of  the  trees,  to 
enable  a  marksman  to  shoot  at  the  reflected  light 
from  the  eyes  of  a  deer  or  wolf  at  night. 

In  snuffing  the  candle,  such  dexterity  is  at- 
tained as  to  enable  a  rifleman,  six  times  out  of 
seven,  actually  to  snuff  a  light  without  extin- 
guishing it.  When  it  is  considered  that  a  Ken- 
tuckian,  with  the  same  ease  with  which  he  snuffs 
his  candle  dispatches  his  enemy,  and  that  every 


46  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

man  in  the  state  is  used  to  handle  the  deadly 
weapon  from  the  time  he  can  shoulder  it,  it  will 
be  evident  that  the  Kentuckians  are  no  con- 
temptible antagonists. 

But  yet  more  formidable  than  to  contest  with 
such  a  foe  is  to  encounter  that  terrible  pheno- 
menon known  in  the  State  where  it  is  so  fre- 
quent as  a  hurricane.  Audubon,  surprised  by 
one  on  his  journey  from  Henderson,  appears  to 
have  retained  as  vivid  an  idea  of  its  awful 
grandeur  as  of  that  of  the  earthquake.  It  is 
preceded  also  by  a  thick  haze  in  the  atmosphere, 
-from  which  he  would  have  inferred  a  recurrence 
of  the  same  catastrophe,  but  that  his  horse  ex- 
hibited this  time  no  inclination  to  stop  and  pre- 
pare for  it.  Having  arrived  at  the  verge  of  a 
valley,  Audubon  dismounted  to  quench  his 
thirst  from  a  brook  close  at  hand,  and  while 
leaning  on  his  knees,  close  to  the  earth,  he  heard 
a  strange  murmuring  sound,  far  in  the  distance. 
Raising  his  head,  he  observed  towards  the  south- 
west, an  extraordinary  phenomenon,  of  a  yellow- 
tinged  oval  spot  on  the  horizon.  Before  he  had 
time  to  reflect  upon  it,  a  sharp  breeze  agitated 
the  trees,  increasing  rapidly,  till  the  smaller 
branches  were  soon  falling  to  the  ground. 

In  two  minutes  more  the  whole  forest  was  in 
fearftd  commotion.  The  creaking  noise  of  the 
huge  trunks  pressing  against  each  other  from  the 


A  HURRICANE.  47 

violent  gusts  of  wind,  seemed  the  announcement 
of  some  terrible  convulsion.  Torn  by  the  blast, 
the  noblest  trees  of  the  forest  bowed  their  lofty 
heads,  the  cracking  of  their  branches  and  the 
heaving  of  their  massive  stems  preceding  the 
crash  of  their  entire  destruction.  Others  of 
enormous  size,  rent  up  at  once  entirely  by  the 
roots,  fell  in  one  vast  heap  of  ruin  to  the  earth. 
Some,  with  colossal  branches,  like  giant  arms, 
outspread  for  the  conflict,  offered  a  momentary 
resistance,  to  be  suddenly  snapped  across  the 
centre ;  while  the  victorious  tempest,  carrying  in 
its  current  a  mass  of  twigs  and  lighter  foliage, 
whirled  around  a  cloud  of  dust  which  obscured 
the  air. 

The  groaning  of  the  desolated  forests  mingled 
with  the  storm,  as  hurrying,  with  shrieking  war- 
cry  or  sullen  howl,  along  its  desolating  track,  its 
tumult  could  have  been  equalled  only  by  the 
roar  of  the  Niagara  cataract.  Speedily,  as  it 
arose,  the  fury  of  the  hurricane  subsided,  though 
for  hours  the  air  was  thickened  by  the  abun- 
dance of  lighter  foliage,  still  swept  around  by 
the  gale.  An  odour,  as  of  sulphur,  then  filled  the 
atmosphere,  and  the  greenish  lurid  sky  looked 
down  upon  the  huge  heap  of  vegetation,  whicli, 
in  shapeless  masses,  marked  the  course  of  the 
hurricane.  So  rapidly  had  it  advanced,  that  be- 
fore Audubon  could  take  measures  for  his  safety, 


4-8  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

its  violence  menaced  the  very  spot  on  which  he 
stood.  With  consternation  he  was  compelled 
to  watch  its  awful  progress,  and  grateful  to  the 
Divine  Disposer,  he  beheld  at  length  nature  as- 
sume her  wonted  aspect,  and  found  himself  un- 
injured. Having  business  of  an  urgent  nature, 
instead  of  returning  to  the  adjacent  town,  he 
boldly  followed  the  pathway  of  the  storm,  so 
tangled  as  to  cause  him  innumerable  difficulties ; 
nevertheless  he  pursued  his  way,  now  aiding 
his  horse  to  leap  the  mangled  remains  of  trees, 
now  scrambling  himself  through  the  shattered 
branches  by  which  he  was  hemmed  in.  For 
hundreds  of  miles  the  traces  of  the  hurricane 
were  visible;  its  ravages  perceptible  even  on 
the  mountain  summits  adjoining  the  great  Penn 
sylvanian  Pine  Forest. 

Audubon's  wanderings,  thus  proline  of  extra 
ordinary  events,  were  not  less  so  of  amusing 
incidents,  necessarily  connected  with  the  many 
remarkable  characters  who  met  his  observation. 
One  of  the  striking  among  them  was  that  of  the 
renowned  and  dauntless  leader  of  the  emigrant 
bands  into  Kentucky,  Daniel,  or  as  he  was 
courteously  termed  in  the  state,  Colonel  B<  one. 
It  was  Audubon's  fortune  to  remain  under  the 
same  roof  with  this  extraordinary  man,  whose 
appearance  and  gigantic  stature  well  befitted  a 
hunter  of  the  woods.     His  chest  was  broad,  and 


CAPTURED   BY  THE   INDIANS  49 

prominent  muscular  power  displayed  itself  in 
every  limb,  while  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance, which  was  bold  and  ingenuous,  indicated 
courage,  enterprise,  and  strength.  Audubon, 
who  occupied  the  same  sleeping  apartment  wit  a 
him,  was  indefatigable  in  his  questionings,  in 
order  to  elicit  some  account  of  his  companion's 
exploits.  The  Colonel,  after  merely  laying  aside 
his  hunting  shirt,  and  arranging  a  few  folds  of  a 
blanket  on  the  floor,  remarked  that  "  he  would 
rather  lie  there  than  on  the  softest  bed."  He  then 
assented  to  Audubon's  request,  by  relating  an 
occurrence  which  befell  him  while  on  an  expe- 
dition to  the  Green  river  in  Kentucky,  where 
none  but  sons  of  the  soil  were  looked  upon  as 
lawful  proprietors  of  that  State. 

He  had  extinguished  one  night  the  fire  of  his 
camp,  and  lain  down  to  rest  in  security,  as  he 
imagined,  when  seized  by  an  indistinguishable 
number  of  hands,  he  was  immediately  pinioned, 
as  if  about  to  be  led  to  execution.  To  have  re- 
sisted, when  in  the  power  of  the  crafty  Eedskins 
would  have  been  dangerous  as  useless.  By' 
suffering  himself  to  be  quietly  removed,  the  In- 
dians were  convinced  of  his  fearlessness.  Mean- 
while, his  mental  ingenuity  was  incessantly  exer- 
cised for  some  stratagem  of  escape.  On  his  ar- 
rival at  the  camp,  great  rejoicings  were  shown, 
and  he  was  warned  by  unequivocal  gestures,  that 
5  d 


50  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

before  another  dawn,  one  mortal  enemy  of  the 
Eedskins  should  have  ceased  to  live.  The 
squaws,  who  amused  themselves  with  ransack- 
ing his  hunting  shirt  for  booty,  now  succeeded 
so  well  in  their  search  as  to  find  a  large  flask  of 
Monongahela  (strong  whisky),  while  a  barbarous 
grin  on  their  ferocious  faces  told  their  delight 
at  the  discovery.  A  silently  disguised  satis- 
faction filled  the  Colonel's  heart  at  the  prospect 
of  their  intoxication.  Wishing  the  bottle  ten 
times  as  large,  or  filled  with  aquafortis,  etc.,  he 
beheld  it  pass  from  mouth  to  mouth,  midst  songs 
and  outcries  of  wild  revelry.  He  observed  also, 
however,  with  a  depression  which  made  his 
hopes  sink,  that  the  women,  his  least  formidable 
antagonists,  drank  for  more  freely  than  the 
warriors.  At  the  report  of  a  gun  in  the  distance 
the  men  suddenly  jumped  to  their  feet,  and 
singing  and  dancing  were  for  a  while  discon- 
tinued, for  a  consultation  between  the  warriors 
and  their  wives,  of  which  the  Colonel  plainly 
perceived  he  was  the  cause.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  men  departed,  leaving  the  squaws  alone,  as 
he  hoped,  to  guard  him.  In  five  minutes  more 
the  flask  was  drained,  and  very  soon  he  beheld, 
with  inexpressible  delight,  unmistakeable  signs 
of  intoxication  manifested  by  the  tumbling  snor- 
ing company.  The  Colonel  following  the  exam- 
ple of  the  assembly,  from  a  very  different  motive, 


AN   ECCENTRIC   GENIUS.  51 

rolled  over  and  over  towards  the  fire,  and  thug 
succeeded  in  burning  the  cords  by  which  he  was 
fettered.  Springing  to  his  feet  and  snatching  up 
his  rifle,  he  thus  effected  his  escape;  for  once, 
sparing  the  life  of  an  Indian  and  mindful  of  his 
own.  A  cut  of  the  Colonel's  tomahawk  in  the 
stem  of  an  ash,  was  made  to  commemorate  hi? 
adventure  there,  and  if  the  innovations  of  time, 
and  the  inroads  of  an  equally  ruthless  civilization 
permit,  the  curious  or  interested  may  prove  the 
authenticity  of  this  anecdote. 

As  Audubon  rambled  one  day  beside  his 
favourite  river,  he  observed  a  man  landing  from 
a  boat,  with  what  appeared  a  bundle  of  dried 
clover  on  his  back.  No  sooner  had  the  excla- 
mation "What  an  odd-looking  fellow !  an  ori- 
ginal, surely!"  crossed  his  mind,  than  he  per- 
ceived the  stranger  approach  him  in  haste,  and 
with  astonishment,  heard  him  inquire  for  the 
house  of  Mr.  Audubon.  With  the  cordial  hos- 
pitality which  characterized  him,  Audubon  in- 
stantly replied,  "Why,  I  am  the  man,  and  will 
gladly  lead  you  to  my  dwelling." 

The  traveller  thus  happily  relieved  from  all 
perplexity  as  to  his  entree,  actually  clapped  his 
hands  with  delight.  He  then  took  from  hia 
pocket  a  letter  of  introduction,  which  he  pre- 
sented.    Its  contents  were — 


52  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

M  My  dear  Audubon, 
11 1  send  you  an  odd  fish,  which  may  prove  to 
be  undescribed.     If  so,  I  hope  you  will  let  me 
have  an  account  in  your  next  letter. 

Believe  me  always  your  friend,  B. 

With  an  amusing  simplicity  worthy  this  Cin- 
cinnatus  of  science,  Audubon  unhesitatingly 
asked  the  bearer  "where  the  odd  fish  was?" 

Perplexity  was  now  his,  when,  with  perfect 
good  humour  and  self-possession,  Monsieur  de 
Thouville,  in  whose  presence  he  was,  replied, 
"  I  am  that  odd  fish,  I  presume,  Mr.  Audubon." 
To  their  mutual  relief,  the  house  of  his  host  was 
soon  reached.  Audubon,  desirous  to  put  his 
friend  at  ease,  was  on  the  point  of  ordering  a 
bervant  to  the  boat  for  Monsieur  de  Thouville's 
luggage,  who  prevented  him,  however,  with  the 
remark,  that  he  had  none  but  what  he  brought 
on  his  back ;  at  the  same  time  loosening  the  pack 
of  weeds  which  had  first  attracted  Audubon's 
attention. 

The  stranger  naturalist  then,  while  engaged 
in  pulling  his  stockings,  not  up  but  down,  to 
cover  the  holes  about  his  heels,  indulged  his 
loquacity  in  the  gayest  manner  imaginable. 
After  relating  the  distance  he  had  walked,  and 
his  passage  on  board  the  ark,  he  expressed  also 
his  regret  that  his  apparel  should  have  suffered  ; 


THE  STRANGER  NATURALIST.  53 

but  at  the  same  time,  he  eagerly  denied  the  offel 
of  any  clean  clothes  ;  and  it  was  with  evident 
reluctance  he  accepted  an  invitation  for  ablution. 
It  is  not  difficult  to  conceive  the  interest  and  as- 
tonishment excited  among  the  inmates  of  Au- 
dubon's habitation,  by  the  singular  appearance 
of  this  scientific  professor.  A  long  loose  coat  of 
yellow  nankeen — on  which  the  inroads  of  time 
were  plainly  visible,  stained  as  it  was  with  the 
juice  of  many  a  plant — hung  about  him  like  a 
sack.  A  waistcoat  of  the  same,  with  enormous 
pockets  and  buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  reached 
below,  over  a  pair  of  tight  pantaloons,  the  lower 
parts  of  which  were  buttoned  down  to  the  ancles. 
The  dignity  he  acquired  from  the  broad  and 
prominent  brow  which  ornamented  his  counte- 
nance, was  somewhat  diminished  by  the  forlorn 
appearance  of  his  long  beard,  and  the  mass  of 
lank  black  hair  which  fell  from  his  shoulders. 
His  striking  resemblance  to  that  equally  eccen- 
tric savant,  Dick  Eoberts,  must  certainly  have 
crossed  the  mind  of  Audubon,  if,  as  is  not  im- 
probable, that  extraordinary  man  had  ever  met 
his  observation,  whilst  enjoying  the  hospitality 
of  A  Her  ton.  The  surprise  of  the  ladies  was  in- 
voluntarily manifested  in  the  exchange  of  sun- 
dry critical  glances  which,  to  a  tenacious  egotist, 
would  have  spoken  volumes.     Soon,  however 

their  astonishment  was  converted  into  admiration 
5* 


54  AUDUBON   THE    NATURALIST. 

at  the  agreeable  ease  and  rare  enlightenment  of 
the  stranger's  conversation. 

Having  visited  Audubon  expressly  for  the 
purpose  of  seeing  his  representations  of  birds, 
which  he  had  heard  were  accompanied  by  those 
of  shrubs  and  plants,  his  impatience  to  inspect 
the  portfolios  at  once  was  very  evident.  He 
was  struck  with  the  drawing  of  a  plant  which 
appeared  new  to  him.  With  a  characteristic 
scepticism,  however,  which  led  him  to  believe 
only  in  his  own  discoveries,  or  such  as,  owning  the 
prestige  of  age,  had,  according  to  Malebranche's 
expression,  acquired  a  "venerable  beard,"  he 
denied  the  existence  of  such  a  plant.  As  it  was 
very  common  in  the  neighbourhood,  Audubon 
promised  to  show  it  to  him  on  the  morrow. 

"Why  to-morrow?"  exclaimed  he;  "let  us 
go  now."  On  reaching  the  bank  of  the  river, 
he  was  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  representa- 
tion. Plucking  the  plants  mercilessly  one  after 
the  other,  he  danced,  hugged  them  in  his  arms, 
and  crying  out  that  he  had  not  merely  a  new 
species,  but  a  new  genus,  he  seemed  on  the  verge 
of  delirium  from  delight.  Yet  was  his  incredu- 
lity in  no  degree  diminished  with  regard  to  other 
matters.  Again  within  doors,  the  windows  were 
opened  to  admit  the  summer  air.  The  light  of 
the  candles  attracted  the  insects,  and  among 
them  a  large  species  of  Scarabcens.     Audubon 


A   CONTEST  WITH   BATS.  55 

having  one,  showed  it  to  his  guest,  assuring  him 
that  it  was  so  strong,  that  it  would  crawl  on 
the  table  with  a  candlestick  on  his  back. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  experiment  made, 
Mr.  Audubon,"  De  Thouville  replied. 

It  was  accordingly  done,  the  insect  dragging 
its  burthen  till,  on  reaching  the  edge  of  the 
table,  it  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  then  took 
to  flight* 

All  had  retired  to  rest,  when  Audubon  was 
surprised  by  an  uproar  in  the  naturalist's  apart- 
ment. On  reaching  it,  to  inquire  the  cause,  what 
was  his  surprise  at  the  now  still  more  singular 
appearance  of  his  guest,  no  longer  attired  in 
costume  eccentric,  or  otherwise.  Running  about, 
he  was  engaged  in  a  sanguinary  contest  with  the 
bats,  which  had  entered  by  the  open  window — 
his  only  weapon  the  handle  of  Audubon's  fa- 
vourite violin,  which  had  been  demolished  in  the 
fray.  Uninterrupted  by  the  entrance  of  his 
amazed  visitor,  he  continued  his  extraordinary 
gyrations.  Round  and  round  he  went,  with  the 
monotony  cf  a  dervish,  till  so  exhausted  as  to 
be  scarcely  able  to  request  Audubon  to  procure 
one  of  the  animals  for  him,  as  he  felt  convinced 
that  they  belonged  to  a  "  new  species." 


*See  Dalton's  "British  Guiana,"  in  -which  a  similar  ex- 
periment is  described. 


56  AUDUBON   THE  NATURALIST. 

A  small  rap  on  each  of  the  bats  from  And  a 
bon,  brought  him  specimens  enough.  The  con 
test  thus  arrived  at  a  successful  issue,  Audubon 
departed,  not  without  a  wondering  glance  at  the 
scene  of  warfare  the  room  presented.  The  re- 
mains of  the  stricken  birds  were  strewn  over  it, 
and  a  confused  heap  of  plants  which,  a  little 
while  since,  carefully  selected  into  groups,  were 
now  in  irrevocable  disorder. 

De  Thouville  remained  some  days  under  the 
hospitable  roof  of  his  new  friend,  during  which 
these  fellow-labourers  diligently  pursued  their 
respective  occupations.  He  naturally  desired, 
before  departing,  some  memorial  of  the  time  and 
place,  which  might  also  assist  his  researches  in 
vegetation,  and  enrich  his  possessions.  The  Cane 
Brakes,  which  formerly  spread  over  the  Ken- 
tucky State,  interspersed  with  plants  of  every 
description,  tempted  the  imagination  of  the  na- 
turalist. Little  was  he  aware  of  the  difficulties 
of  effecting  a  passage  through  those  formidable 
mazes,  where  the  hunters  cut  a  pathway  with 
their  knives,  and  underwood,  heavy  perhaps 
with  sleet  or  rain,  which  comes  down  to  the  dis- 
comfort of  the  poor  traveller,  as  he  bends  the 
foliage,  and  presses  his  way  through.  At  De 
Thouville's  urgent  request,  however,  the  com- 
panions set  forth,  Audubon  not  without  a  sly 
and  somewhat  malicious  resolve  to  gratify  his 


KENTUCKY  CANE  BRAKES.       57 

wish,  even  at  some  cost  to  himself.  That  he 
might  not  be  intimidated  at  the  outset,  Audubon 
cleared  the  way  by  cutting  down  the  canes. 
Difficulties  increased  as  they  proceeded.  Hav- 
ing passed  the  rubicon,  the  poor  naturalist  con- 
tinued to  wade  his  troubled  way  with  many  a 
regret  and  groan.  Through  knotted  vines  and 
intricacies  of  cane,  they  proceeded,  till,  coming 
on  the  misshapen  mass  of  a  fallen  tree,  they 
were  about  to  precipitate  themselves  through  it, 
when  suddenly  from  its  centre  a  bear  rushed 
forth,  angrily  snuffing  the  air  as  though  intent 
on  the  first  prey  that  should  present  itself. 
Poor  De  Thouville,  his  ebbing  energies  ex- 
hausted as  well  as  his  moral  powers,  by  fright, 
attempted  to  run,  but  fell  terror-stricken  among 
the  canes,  to  remain  jammed  between  their 
stalks,  as  if  pinioned.  Audubon,  repressing 
his  merriment,  in  order  to  give  the  active  as- 
sistance for  which  De  Thouville  loudly  shrieked, 
actually  succeeded  in  persuading  him,  spite  the 
misadventure,  to  continue  the  expedition.  But 
fresh  terrors  awaited  them.  The  way  became 
every  moment  more  tangled.  Heavy  clouds, 
portentous  of  a  storm  of  thunder,  were  observed 
by  Audubon  with  malicious  delight,  but  with 
dread  by  his  companion;  who,  panting,  per* 
spiring,  and  sighing,  seemed  about  to  surrender 
in  despair.    Still  the  thunder  roared,  and  dashes 


58  AUDUBON   THE    NATURALIST. 

of  heavy  rain,  while  they  drenched  the  travellers, 
rendered  their  pathway  a  very  morass.  The 
withered  leaves  and  bark  of  the  canes  stuck  to 
their  clothes  as  they  plunged  through,  while 
briers  and  nettles  penetrated  still  further.  To 
De  Thouville's  repeated  inquiry,  whether  they 
should  ever  emerge  alive  out  of  so  horrible  a 
situation,  Audubon  returned  exhortations  and 
admonitions  to  patience  and  courage.  Tumbling 
and  crawling,  the  memorable  march  was  con- 
tinued by  the  poor  naturalist,  who,  once  well  out 
of  the  maze,  emptying  his  pockets  of  fungi, 
lichens,  and  moss,  never  again  expressed  a  desire 
to  enter  it. 

One  evening,  he  was  missed  from  the  circle  at 
Henderson.  Grasses  and  possessions  were  no 
longer  in  his  room.  "Whether  he  had  been 
drowned  in  a  swamp  or  devoured  by  a  bear,  was 
matter  of  conjecture,  till  a  letter,  some  time  after, 
assured  Audubon  that  this  eccentric  naturalist 
Rtill  existed. 


MERCANTILE   PURSUITS.  £9 


CHAPTER   V 

fj^OIi  many  years  subsequent  to  his  marriage, 
■*-  Audubon  engaged  in  various  branches  of 
commerce,  doubtless  from  a  conscientious  sense 
of  the  obligation  his  new  position  imposed. 

That  they  should  have  proved  unprofitable, 
is  scarcely  matter  of  surprise,  with  one  whose 
whole  mind  was  enamoured  of  entirely  opposite 
pursuits.  Nevertheless  his  enterprise  was  not 
unproductive  of  advantage;  for  it  was  while 
ascending  the  upper  Mississippi  on  a  trading 
voyage,  during  the  month  of  February,  1814, 
that  Audubon  first  caught  sight  of  the  beautiful 
Bird  of  Washington.  His  delight  as  he  did  so 
was  extreme.  Not  even  Herschel,  he  says,  when 
he  discovered  the  planet  which  bears  his  name, 
could  have  experienced  more  rapturous  feelings. 
Convinced  that  the  bird  was  extremely  rare,  if 
not  altogether  unknown,  Audubon  felt  particu- 
larly anxious  to  learn  its  species.  He  next  ob- 
served it  whilst  engaged  in  collecting  cray  fish 
on  one  of  the  flats  of  the  Green  river,  at  its 
junction  with  the  Ohio,  where  it  is  bounded  bv 


60  AUDUBON   THE   XATURAI  1ST. 

a  range  of  high  cliffs.  Audubon  felt  assured,  by 
certain  indications,  that  the  bird  frequented  that 
spot.  Seated  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
foot  of  the  rock,  he  eagerly  awaited  its  appear- 
ance as  it  came  to  visit  the  nest  with  food  for  its 
young.  He  was  warned  of  its  approach  by  the 
loud  hissing  of  the  eaglets,  which  crawled  to  the 
extremity  of  the  cavity  to  seize  the  prey — a  fine 
fish.  Presently  the  female,  always  the  larger 
among  rapacious  birds,  arrived,  bearing  also  a 
fish.  With  more  shrewd  suspicion  than  her 
mate,  glaring  with  her  keen  eye  around,  she  at 
once  perceived  the  nest  had  been  discovered. 
Immediately  dropping  her  prey,  with  a  loud 
shriek  she  communicated  the  alarm,  when  both 
birds  soaring  aloft,  kept  up  a  growling  to  intim- 
idate the  intruders  from  their  suspected  design. 
Not  until  two  years  later  was  Audubon  grat- 
ified by  the  capture  of  this  magnificent  bird. 
Considered  by  him  the  noblest  of  its  kind,  he 
dignified  it  with  the  great  name  to  which  his 
country  owed  her  salvation,  and  which  must  be 
imperishable  therefore  among  her  people.  "Like 
the  eagle,"  he  thought,  "  Washington  was  brave; 
like  it,  he  was  the  terror  of  his  foes,  and  his  fame 
extending  from  pole  to  pole,  resembled  the  ma- 
jestic soarings  of  the  mightiest  of  the  feathered 
tribe.  America,  proud  of  her  Washington,  has 
also  reason  to  be  so  of  her  Great  Eagle."     Th* 


THE   MISSISSIPPI.  63 

flight  of  this  bird  is  distinct  from  that  of  the 
white-headed  eagle ;  it  encircles  a  greater  space, 
whilst  sailing  keeps  nearer  to  the  land,  and  when 
about  to  dive  for  fish,  descends  in  a  spiral  line, 
as  if  with  the  intention  of  checking  every  attempt 
at  retreat  by  its  prey. 

Audubon's  commercial  expedition,  rich  in 
attractions  for  his  scientific  observation,  were 
attended  also  with  the  varied  pleasures  which 
delight  a  passenger  on  the  waters  of  the  glorious 
Mississippi.  Interesting  in  its  magnificence, 
even  beneath  a  cold  winter  sky,  with  keen  blasts 
whistling  around,  infinitely  more  so  is  it  in  the 
freshness  of  the  spring  season,  the  radiance  of 
summer,  or  above  all  the  brilliance  of  autumn. 
The  vegetation  adorning  its  shores  is  then  en- 
chanting. There  the  tall  cotton  tree  mingles  its 
branches  with  those  of  the  arrow-shaped  ash,  the 
peccan  or  walnut.  Huge  oaks  overspread  the 
densely  tangled  canes,  from  amongst  which  vines 
of  various  kinds  spring  up,  intertwining  the 
trunks  and  stems  with  their  tendrils,  till  stretch- 
ing from  branch  to  branch  the  whole  expanse  is 
covered,  as  with  a  canopy  of  vegetation,  illu- 
mined with  rich  hues  of  crimson,  brown,  and 
gold.  Adorning  the  distant  prospect  of  hills 
arise  noble  pines,  magnolias  or  hollies,  waving 
their  lofty  heads  in  the  breeze. 

K/esh  scenes  of  interest  are  continually  dis- 


62  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

closed  by  the  frequent  windings  of  the  river,  as 
you  speed  along  its  rapid  current.  Now  the 
wail  of  the  forest  seems  to  mourn  the  impetuo"  «*, 
relentless  waters,  which,  by  their  constant  in- 
roads, have  swept  the  beautiful  verdure  from 
her  borders,  which  once  sheltered,  with  its  over- 
spreading masses,  the  grief  of  the  cypress,  like  a 
yeil  the  sorrowing  nun.  Again,  the  desolate 
camp  of  the  Indian  is  in  sight,  or  about  the  nu- 
merous fairy  islands  which  decorate  the  stream 
boats  are  visible,  sometimes  gliding  silently,  at 
others  swiftly,  stemming  the  waters  like  atten- 
dant genii  of  the  scene.  Thousands  of  birds 
enlivening  the  adjacent  woods  gratify  the  ear 
with  their  sweet  mellow  notes,  or  dazzle  the 
sight,  as  in  their  gorgeous  attire  they  flash  by. 

Among  the  pendant  branches  of  the  tall  tulip 
the  brilliant  oriole  gracefully  moves,  seeking  its 
food  among  the  opening  leaves  and  blossoms. 
Arriving  from  the  south,  this  beautiful  bird 
enters  Louisiana  with  the  spring.  He  then 
seeks  some  suitable  place  in  which  to  nestle, 
generally  the  gentle  slope  of  a  declivity.  Hav- 
ing found  the  desired  spot,  he  commences  chir- 
rupping,  as  though  congratulating  himself  upon 
the  discovery.  Anxious  to  furnish  himself  with 
a  comfortable  residence  also,  he  proceeds  to  form 
his  nest,  in  the  construction  of  which  astonish- 
ing sagacity  is  displayed.     First  securing  the 


THE   BALTIMORE   ORIOLE.  63 

longest  dried  filaments  of  moss,  with  the  aid  of 
bill  and  claws,  he  fastens  the  one  end  to  a  twig, 
with  as  much  art  as  a  sailor,  and  then  secures 
the  other  a  few  inches  off,  leaving  the  thread 
floating  in  the  air  like  a  swing,  the  curve  of 
which  is,  perhaps,  seven  or  eight  inches  from 
the  branches  to  which  it  is  suspended.  The 
Baltimore  oriole  is  thus  frequently  called  the 
"  hanging  bird,"  from  the  peculiarity  of  its 
nest.  "  Much  difference  is  distinguishable  in  these 
structures;  some,  from  their  solidity  and  ele- 
gance, showing  superior  skill  in  the  craftsmen, 
while  others,  more  slovenly,  have  their  habi- 
tations ill  contrived.  The  women  in  the  country 
are  under  the  necessity  of  narrowly  watching 
their  thread,  and  the  farmer  of  securing  his 
young  grafts,  as  the  bird  frequently  carries  off 
both."* 

The  oriole's  helpmate  then  comes  to  his  as 
3istance,  and,  after  inspecting  the  work  her  com 
panion  has  done,  commences  her  labours  by 
placing  some  fresh  threads  of  a  fibrous  substance 
in  a  contrary  direction,  thus  forming  a  graceful 
fabric  of  network,  woven  so  firmly  that  no 
tempest  ever  can  carry  away  the  nest,  without 
breaking  the  branch  also.  As  if  aware  of  the 
heat  which  must  in  those  regions  shortly  ensue, 

*  Wilson'g  Americai  Ornithology. 


64  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

these  birds  form  their  nest  only  of  the  Spanish 
moss,  instead  of  the  warmer  materials  often  used, 
and  build  it  so  as  to  be  freely  ventilated  by  the 
air.  They  are  careful,  moreover,  to  place  it  on 
the  north-east  side  of  the  tree.  On  the  other 
hand,  should  they  proceed  as  far  as  Pennsyl- 
vania or  New  York,  their  nests  would  be  com- 
posed of  the  softest,  warmest  substances;  the 
intense  a  >1 1.  which  sometimes  succeeds  the  fre- 
quent changes  of  the  atmosphere  in  those  places, 
rendering  such  caution  necessary  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  brood.  Two  singular  instances  of  the 
capacity  of  birds  for  architecture  were  met  with 
by  Mr.  Gould,  in  the  bower  bird  and  the  spotted 
bower  bird  of  Australia,  which  build  "  bower- 
like structures  for  the  purpose  of  a  playing 
ground  or  hall  of  assembly."  The  bower  of  the 
latter  birds  is  considerably  longer  than  that  of 
the  first,  more  resembling  an  avenue.  Having 
an  external  coating  of  twigs,  it  is  lined  with  tall 
leaves  so  contrived  as  to  met  at  the  top.  Paved 
with  shells  and  stones,  these  enticing  little  habit- 
ations are  adorned  also  with  brightly  coloured 
feathers. 

Equally  interesting  is  the  habitation  of  the 
tailor  bird,  so  minutely  described  in  that  re- 
pository of  rare  and  curious  information,  the 
Journal  of  the  Asiatic  Society  of  Bengal.  A 
nesi  was  found  woven  stoutly  of  cotton,  thickly 


THE  TAILOR  BIRD.  65 

lined  with  horse-hair,  and  supported  between 
two  leaves  on  a  twig.  These  leaves  placed 
longitudinally  on  each  other  were  stitched  in 
that  position,  from  the  points  to  rather  more 
than  half  way  up  the  sides  with  a  strong  thread , 
this  was  spun  from  the  raw  cotton  by  the  bird, 
leaving  the  entrance  to  the  nest  only  at  the 
upper  end,  between  the  stalks  of  the  leaves, 
where  they  joined  the  branch  of  the  tree. 

When  migrating,  the  flight  of  the  Baltimore 
oriole  is  performed  high  in  the  air,  above  the 
tops  of  the  trees,  and  sometimes,  when  the  sun 
declines,  they  alight  singly  among  the  branches 
to  feed  or  rest. 

Their  song  consists  not  unfrequently  of  eight  or 
ten  loud  full  clear  notes,  is  extremely  melodious 
and  pleasing.  Their  movements  differ  materially 
from  those  of  other  birds.  They  may  be  seen 
clinging  by  the  feet  around  a  stem  in  such  a 
way,  as  to  require  the  full  extension  of  their 
legs  and  bodies,  in  order  to  reach  some  insect. 
Again  they  move  curiously  sideways  for  a  few 
steps;  or,  gliding  with  elegant  and  stately 
motions,  are  seen  with  their  blended  glossy 
plumage  and  vermillion-tinted  breasts,  glittering 
among  th  3  leaves.  They  resort  in  the  summei 
Reason  to  ripe  fruits,  such  as  strawberries,  cher- 
ries, mulberries,  and  figs  for  food. 

Deserving  of  enumeration,  from  the  pecu 
6*  K 


66  AUDUBON"  THE   NATURALIST 

liarity  of  its  attributes,  with  the  most  singula 
amoDg  specimens  of  American  ornithology,  i& 
the  umbrella  bird  mentioned  by  Wallace.*  "  In 
size  equal  to  the  raven,  it  is  also  of  a  glossy 
black.  The  male  in  particular  has  a  singulai 
crest  on  its  head,  formed  of  feathers  two  inches 
long,  thickly  set  with  hairy  plumes,  curving 
over  at  the  end.  These  can  be  erected  and 
spread  out  on  every  side,  forming  a  hemispher- 
ical dome,  completely  covering  the  head,  and 
beyond  the  point  of  the  beak." 

But  linked  with  the  Mississippi  are  associa- 
tions of  very  different  interest  Contrasted 
with  the  poetic  charm  of  beauty  or  melody  in 
birds  and  flowers  is  many  a  tradition  dark  with 
crime.  One  of  these  it  is  which  has  handed 
down  the  name  of  Mason  as  the  terror  of  peace- 
ful navigators  on  the  Mississippi  and  Ohio.  On 
Wolf  Island,  not  far  from  the  confluence  of 
these  rivers,  this  pirate  had  his  settlement,  and 
leagued  with  a  band  of  associates  who  spread 
from  Virginia  to  New  Orleans.  Issuing  from 
Lis  ambush  on  every  propitious  opportunity, 
passing  boats  were  waylaid,  to  be  rifled  of  their 
cargoes,  or  perhaps  deprived  of  their  crews,  who 
mysteriously  disappeared.  Horses  and  negroes, 
the  principal  traffic  of  the  gang,  were,  besides 

•  Travels  on  the  Amazon  and  Rio  Xegro. 


THE   REGULATORS.  67 

provisions,  the  favourite  booty.  The  unscru- 
pulous depravity  of  these  emigrants,  the  refuse 
population  of  other  lands,  made  them  willingly 
retreat  to  regions  on  the  extreme  verge  of  civili- 
zation, where  they  imagined  they  could  indulge, 
unmolested,  their  evil  propensities. 

Fortunately,  a  formidable  power  existed  foi 
the  punishment  of  their  lawlessness.  It  was 
that  body  of  energetic  and  honourable  citizens 
who — vested  with  powers  suited  to  the  necessi- 
ties of  the  occasion — courageously  undertook  to 
preserve  order  on  the  frontiers,  under  the  name 
of  Kegulators.  On  the  commission  of  an  offence 
by  some  delinquent,  an  assembly  of  them  imme- 
diately takes  place  for  the  purpose  of  investiga- 
tion and  judgment.  Should  the  offender  prove 
regardless  of  the  first  sentence,  which  is  gene- 
rally simple  banishment,  his  cabin  is  burnt 
down,  and  he  receives  a  severe  castigation.  On 
a  repetition  of  great  crimes,  the  delinquent  is 
shot,  that  the  recognition  of  a  comrade's  head 
fixed  on  a  pole  may  deter  others  from  following 
his  example.  Against  the  notorious  Mason, 
these  Eegulators  engaged.  Though,  through 
their  watchfulness,  many  of  his  haunts  were 
discovered,  he  yet  contrived,  by  the  aid  of  his 
numerous  spies,  to  escape.  One  day,  however, 
having  mounted  a  beautiful  Virginian  horse — 
his  booty — he  was  recognized  by  a  guard,  who 


63  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

passed  him  as  if  in  utter  ignorance  as  to  who  he 
was.  Mason  thus  pursued  his  way  at  ease  till, 
reaching  at  dusk  his  accustomed  resort,  the  low- 
est part  of  a  ravine,  after  hobbling  his  horse,  he 
oscoDced  himself  in  a  hollow  log  for  the  night 
He  was  observed  all  the  while  by  the  Regula- 
tor, who,  marking  the  place  and  hut  with  his 
practised  eye,  galloped  off  for  assistance,  and 
soon  the  criminal  was  surprised  in  his  retreat. 
In  desperation,  he  defended  himself  with  such 
valour,  that  the  armed  band,  finding  it  impossi- 
ble to  secure  their  victim  otherwise,  at  length 
struck  him  down  with  a  rifle  ball.  His  head, 
stuck  on  the  broken  branch  of  a  tree,  remained 
a  monument  of  the  affray.  The  fol^yers  of 
Mason,  thus  admonished  by  the  fate  of  theii 
leader,  were  not  only  intimidated  from  the  com 
mission  of  equal  crimes,  but  soon  altogether  dis- 
persed. 


TRAVERSING   A   PRAIRIE.  69 


CHAPTER    VI. 

ON  his  return  from  the  Mississippi,  Audubon 
found  himself  obliged  to  traverse  one  of 
those  vast  prairies  which  form  a  striking  charac- 
teristic of  his  country.  His  dog,  his  knapsack 
and  his  gun  were  his  sole  provision  and  com- 
pany. Guided  by  the  track  of  the  Indian 
throughout  the  day,  he  wandered,  gazing  only 
on  the  monotony  of  the  vast  expanse,  unvaried 
by  one  glimpse  of  human  shape  or  habitation, 
till  at  length  the  sun  disappeared  beneath  the 
horizon. 

Then  the  roar  of  wild  animals  in  the  distance, 
the  flapping  of  the  night  birds  in  their  flight, 
and  the  buzzing  of  insects,  were  the  only  sounds 
which  greeted  his  ears.  As  darkness  gradually 
enshrouded  the  whole  extent  of  the  prairie,  his 
desire  increased  to  reach  some  hut  or  woodland, 
ill  which  to  shelter  for  the  night.  Suddenly  a 
fire-light  in  the  distance  caught  his  sight,  suffi- 
ciently near  for  him  to  perceive,  from  its  glare, 
that  it  proceeded  from  the  hearth  of  a  small  log 
cabin.     Before  it  a  tall  figure  constantly  flitted 


70  AUDUBON   THE  NATURALIST. 

as  if  busied  in  some  domestic  occupation.  Au- 
dubon hastened  to  the  spot,  and  presenting  him- 
self at  the  door  of  the  dwelling,  asked  hospi- 
tality for  the  night  of  the  woman  whom  he  had 
first  seen.  The  answer  in  the  affirmative  was  cal- 
culated rather  to  scare  away  an  intruder,  than 
invite  a  guest,  from  its  hoarse,  impulsive  tone, 
which  caused  Audubon  involuntarily  a  chill  of 
repugnance.  Her  appearance,  moreover,  might 
have  dismayed  any  but  the  stoutest  heart.  About 
her  tall,  gaunt  figure,  her  miserable  attire  was 
heedlessly  gathered.  The  roughness  of  her 
manner  and  the  audacity  of  expression  were 
also  well  suited  to  the  large  proportions  and 
muscular  limbs  of  this  Meg  Merrilies  of  the 
woods. 

Audubon,  taking  advantage  of  her  response, 
however,  walked  in  and  seated  himself  before 
the  fire.  The  next  object  which  met  his  view, 
presented  a  very  different  aspect.  A  young  In- 
dian, of  the  most  symmetrical  form,  leant  in  an 
attitude  so  motionless  as  scarcely  to  seem  even 
to  breathe.  His  head  rested  between  his  hands, 
and  his  elbows  were  on  his  knees,  as  though  in 
suffering  or  deep  thought.  A  long  bow  was 
near  him,  and  some  arrows  and  skins  of  racoons 
lay  at  his  feet.  Audubon,  anxious  to  learn  the 
cause  of  his  remarkable  quietude,  and  whether 
or  not  it  proceeded  from  the  apathy  of  his  race, 


A   MEG   MERUILIES   OF   THE   FOREST.         71 

addressed  him.  He  answered  by  raising  his  head 
and  pointing  with  his  finger  to  one  of  his  eyes, 
while  with  the  other  he  gave  a  significant  glance, 
explanatory  of  the  action.  His  face  thns  revealed 
though  covered  with  blood,  might  be  seen,  never 
theless,  to  be  unmistakeably  handsome,  dis 
figured  as  it  was  by  the  accident  which,  an  houi 
before,  had  impared  for  ever  its  singular  beauty. 
While  discharging  an  arrow  at  a  racoon  in  the 
top  of  a  tree,  the  shaft  had  split  upon  the  cord, 
and  sprung  back  with  such  violence  in  his  eye, 
as  utterly  to  destroy  it. 

Audubon's  attention  was  directed  next  to  the 
peculiarly  comfortless  and  barren  aspect  of  his 
strange  abode,  without  a  single  bed  on  which  to 
recruit  his  weary  limbs ;  some  untanned  bear 
and  buffalo  skins  were  the  only  invitation  to  re- 
pose. As  he  received  no  voluntary  courtesy 
from  his  hostess,  he  was  anxious  to  let  her  know 
of  the  hunger  of  which  he  was  so  painfully  sen- 
sible himself,  and,  to  propitiate  her,  drew  forth  a 
rich  watch  from  his  vest.  This  told,  apparently, 
with  electric  force  upon  her  feelings ;  for  he 
was  instantly  informed  of  the  existence  of  cakes, 
venison,  and  other  dainties,  from  which  to  make 
an  excellent  repast.  Bat,  first,  he  was  com- 
pelled again  to  gratify  her  curiosity  by  another 
sight  of  the  watch  which  she  beheld  in  wonder 
She  received  with  ecstas}'  the  gold  chain,  which 


72  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

Audubon  presented  to  her;  and  hanging  it  with 
barbaric  pride  around  her  brawny  neck,  she  ex- 
pressed, at  the  same  time,  how  happy  the  pos- 
session of  the  watch  also  would  make  her. 
Meanwhile,  Audubon,  more  intent  on  satisfying 
his  appetite  than  securing  his  ornaments,  paid 
little  attention  to  her  antics. 

In  this  deceptive  ease  he  would  have  re- 
mained, but  for  the  extraordinary — and  what  to 
him  appeared  unaccountable — movements  of  the 
young  Indian.  Though  seemingly  in  the  greatest 
suffering,  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  failing  to 
attract  Audubon's  especial  attention  by  passing 
and  repassing  before  him,  at  length  pinched 
him  violently.  Audubon  looked  up,  about  to 
exclaim  in  anger  at  the  pain,  but  was  checked 
by  a  glance  which  sent  a  chill  through  his  blood 
The  Indian  then  seating  himself  drew  a  knife 
from  its  scabbard,  examined  its  edge,  and  again 
taking  its  tomahawk  and  filling  the  pipe  of  it 
with  tobacco,  from  time  to  time,  exchanged  ex 
pressive  looks  with  Audubon,  when  the  back  of 
his  hostess  was  turned.  He  now  understood  the 
warning,  and  was  well  aware,  that  though  ene- 
mies encircled  him,  the  Indian  was  none  among 
them.  Under  an  impromptu  pretence,  he  soon 
walked  out  of  the  cabin. 

After  priming  his  gun,  he  returned  to  the 
hut,  where,  making  a  pallet  of  bear  skins,  and 


THE   CRITICAL   MOMENT.  73 

calling  his  dog  to  his  side,  in  a  few  minutes  he 
feigned  a  deep  slumber,  while  awaiting  the  issue 
of  the  adventure.  In  a  short  time  two  youths 
entered,  bearing  a  stag  on  a  pole.  Having  laid 
down  their  burden,  they  asked  for  whisky,  of 
which  they  drank  freely,  all  the  while  increasing 
the  ferocity  of  their  gestures. 

The  mother  then  spoke  in  a  low  tone  concern- 
ing the  watch,  and  a  conversation  ensued  which 
it  was  easy  to  interpret.  Audubon  then  gently 
tapped  his  dog,  and  beheld  with  indescribable 
relief  the  splendid  eyes  of  the  faithful  animal 
sagaciously  raised,  as  though  aware  of  the  im 
pending  danger,  alternating  towards  his  master 
and  the  trio  in  conversation.  The  looks  of  the 
young  Indian,  too,  reassured  him. 

Yet  it  needed  all  his  fortitude  quietly  to  ob- 
serve the  menacing  proceedings,  for  with  sur- 
prise and  horror  he  beheld  the  wretch,  whose 
cupidity  had  been  excited  by  his  possessions, 
take  up  a  large  carving  knife,  and  proceed  to 
the  grindstone  to  whet  its  edge.  A  sickness  of 
soul  ciept  over  him  as  he  observed  her  sharpen- 
ing still  more  and  more  the  deadly  instrument 
with  which  she  was  about  to  take  advantage  of 
his  defenceless  condition. 

Approaching  hirn  cautiously,  she  appeared 
contemplating  the  readiest  method  of  dispatch. 

The  moment  which  might,  spite  his   endea- 
7 


74  AUDUBOX   THE   NATURALIST. 

vours  at  self-defence,  be  his  last,  was  at  hand, 
when  suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  two  stout 
travellers,  armed  with  rifles  entered.  Offering 
them  a  hearty  welcome,  Audubon  instantly 
made  his  situation  understood.  The  Indian 
danced  for  joy,  and  the  culprits  were  now  the 
captives.  The  return  of  a  bright  and  rosy  dawn 
brought  their  merited  punishment,  that  which 
^Regulators  usually  employ  for  such  delinquents. 
Their  cabin  was  then  fired,  and  its  contents  be- 
came the  possessions  of  the  young  Indian. 

But  if  Audubon,  during  his  wanderings,  had 
sometimes  cause  to  be  suspicious  of  receptions 
afforded  him  by  the  foresters,  he  had  often  rea- 
son to  appreciate  with  gratitude  their  friendly 
hospitality.  With  these  simple  inhabitants  of 
the  woods,  no  sense  of  expediency  or  compulsory 
courtesy  alloys  the  kindly  welcome,  which 
springs  solely  from  the  generous  impulse  of  their 
hearts.  The  shelter  and  refreshment  of  their 
humble  dwellings  and  homely  fare  is  unostenta- 
tiously offered.  Their  hospitality,  mingled  thus 
with  no  pompous  condescension  or  officious  at- 
tention, is  received  and  remembered  with  pecu- 
liarly pleasurable  impressions. 

Such  an  impression  was  retained  by  Audubon 
of  an  incident  which  he  met  with  during  his 
travels,  when  accompanied  by  his  youthful  son. 
They  had  walked  several  hundred  miles,  when. 


A   STORM.  75 

approaching  a  clsar  steam,  they  gladly  observed 
a  habitation  on  the  opposite  side.  It  proved 
to  be  a  tavern,  which  they  reached  by  crossing 
in  a  canoe.  There  they  resolved  to  spend  the 
night,  and  as  they  were  much  fatigued,  arranged 
with  their  host  to  be  conveyed  in  a  Jersey  wagon 
Borne  hundred  miles  further.  The  rising  of 
the  moon  was  to  be  the  moment  for  departure. 
"  That  orbed  maiden  with  white  fire  laden,"  soon 
spread  her  silvery  light  over  the  woods.  Their 
conductor,  then  armed  a  long  twig  of  hickory, 
took  a  foremost  seat  in  the  wagon.  Off  went 
the  travellers  at  a  round  trot,  to  be  hurried 
fearlessly  over  tree  trunks,  stumps,  and  ruts 
which  lined  the  road,  till  they  danced  in  the 
vehicle  like  pease  in  a  sieve !  A  bright  dawn 
seemed  the  herald  of  fair  weather;  but  soon 
the  cheerful  tenor  of  their  way  was  interrupted 
by  a  change.  Eain  fell  in  torrents,  thunder 
roared,  and  lightning  flamed,  till  night  set  in 
black  and  dismal.  Cold  and  wet,  with  little 
disposition  now  to  loquacity  or  mirth,  the  wan- 
derers were  compelled  to  pursue  their  course, 
with  no  better  prospect  than  braving  the  still 
threatening  elements  throughout  the  night,  as 
they  had  done,  in  the  open  cart.  To  stop  was 
plainly  to  seal  such  a  doom.  Onward  they  went, 
till,  on  a  sudden,  a  curve  in  the  course  of  their 
march  brought  the  glimmer  of  a  light,  appar* 


76  AUDUBON    THE   NATURALIST. 

ently  not  far  off.  At  the  same  moment  the  baik 
ing  of  dogs  fell  gratefully  on  their  ears  in  the  soli- 
tude. They  exchanged  a  salute,  and  no  sooner 
had  they  done  so  than  a  pine  torch  glared  across 
the  gloom.  Without  any  ceremony  of  question 
ing,  the  negro  boy  by  whom  it  was  borne  enjoined 
the  travellers  to  follow  him.  The  door  of  a 
dwelling  was  soon  reached,  when  a  tall  fine- 
looking  young  fellow  desired  them  to  enter. 
Spite  the  humble  dimensions  of  the  cabin,  no 
more  inviting  refuge  could  be  imagined.  It  had 
evidently  only  been  recently  constructed  by  the 
inmates,  a  young  couple,  who  with  the  amiable 
simplicity  of  wood-doves,  had  sought  this  hum- 
ble shelter  in  which  to  tell  all  the  happy  tale  of 
love.  It  was  built  of  logs  of  the  tulip  tree, 
neatly  carved,  and  slabs  of  wood,  white  as  snow, 
formed  the  floor.  A  large  spinning-wheel,  with 
rolls  of  cotton,  occupied  one  corner,  and  sundry 
garments,  its  produce,  testified  the  ingenious  in- 
dustry of  the  young  matron.  A  small  cupboard 
contained  a  stock  of  bright  new  crockery,  in 
dishes,  plates,  and  pans.  The  table  and  other  few 
pieces  of  furniture  shone  bright  as  polished  wal- 
nut could  be.  The  only  bed  it  contained  was  of 
domestic  manufacture.  A  fine  rifle  ornamented 
the  mantel-shell*  The  ready  activity  and  cheei- 
ful  unremitting  attention  shown  by  the  young 
wife  towards  the  strangers  proved  the  sincerity 


PLEASANT  GREETING.  71 

of  her  pleasure  in  sharing  her  husband's  ex 
pressioDs  of  hospitality. 

The  wanderers,  seated  by  the  fire,  had  fresh 
clothes,  warm  and  dry,  presented  to  them  in  re- 
turn for  their  drenched  garments.  The  blaze  of 
the  wood  logs  illumined  the  cottage,  and  the 
Bight  of  poultry  told  of  good  cheer,  when  the 
host  expressed  his  regret  "  that  the  travellers 
had  not  arrived  three  weeks  earlier ;  for,"  said 
he,  "  it  was  our  wedding-day.  My  father  gave 
us  a  good  house-warming,  and  you  might  have 
fared  better ;  but  if  you  can  eat  bacon,  with  eggs 
and  a  broiled  chicken,  you  shall  have  that.  I 
have  no  whisky;  but  my  father  has  some  ex. 
cellent  cider.  I'll  go  for  a  keg  of  it — it's  only 
three  miles,  so  I'll  be  back  before  Eliza  has 
cooked  your  supper."  In  a  minute,  through  the 
pouring  of  the  rain,  which  fell  in  torrents,  the 
galloping  of  his  horse  was  heard.  Meantime  the 
negroes  ground  some  coffee,  and  bread  was 
baked  by  the  fair  young  wife.  The  cloth  was 
set,  and  all  arranged,  when  the  clattering  of 
hoofs  told  the  husband's  return.  He  entered, 
bearing  a  two-gallon  keg  of  cider.  His  eyes 
beamed  with  benevolent  pleasure  at  the  adven- 
ture, while,  seated  by  the  fire,  he  filled  a  bowl 
with  the  sparkling  juice.  Supper  over,  part 
of  the  bedding  was  arranged  for  the  guests: 
Sweetly  they  slept  till  the  return  of  morning, 


78  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

wlien,  after  a  hearty  breakfast,  they  pursued  theii 
way,  now  with  a  brighter  atmosphere  and  more 
buoyant  hopes.  The  young  woodsman  headed 
the  party  on  horseback,  till  beyond  the  difficul- 
ties of  the  road,  when,  after  a  friendly  farewell, 
he  returned  to  his  dear  Eliza  and  his  pleasant 
home. 


VISIT  TO   PHILADELPHIA.  79 


CHAPTER  TIL 

I  \URING  April,  1824,  Audubon  visited  Phil- 
*~J  adelphia,  with  the  view  of  continuing  his 
researches  eastward  along  the  coast. 

Up  to  this  time,  though  so  diligent  a  student, 
he  appears  to  have  entertained  no  definite  idea 
of  any  beneficial  or  advantageous  result  of  his 
efforts.  Never,  indeed,  did  he  dare  to  indulge 
the  hope  of  becoming  in  any  degree  useful  to 
his  kind,  much  less  did  he  dream  of  the  rare  suc- 
cess which  should  one  day  signalize  his  name. 
Yet  to  this  end  did  the  irresistible  impulse  of 
his  genius  unconsciously  incite  him.  Led  on  by 
the  pure  attraction  of  his  love,  as  the  disciple  of 
science,  heroically  and  patiently  he  followed  on, 
until  at  length  her  best  rewards  were  gratefully 
bestowed. 

On  visiting  Philadelphia,  his  only  friends  in 
the  city,  were  Dr.  Mease,  whom  he  had  knowD 
in  his  youthful  days,  and  Dr.  Richard  Harlan, 
long  his  friend,  and  whose  friendship  continued 
through  the  lifetime  of  Audubon.  By  them, 
Audubon  was  introduced  to  the  illustrious  nat- 


80  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

aralist,  Charles  Lucien  Bonaparte ;  and,  througl 
that  medium,  to  the  Natural  History  Society  of 
Philadelphia.  Lucien  Bonaparte  he  seems  ever 
to  have  affectionately  regarded  as  his  earliest 
patron.  Through  him  he  first  conceived  the 
idea  of  his  great  work,  and  was  incited  to  arrange 
his  drawings,  already  classified  into  three  distinct 
departments,  in  a  form  suitable  for  publication. 
The  suggestion  was  long  a  mingled  source  of 
delight  and  torment  to  Audubon.  Sometimes 
happily  absorbed  in  the  most  pleasing  dreams, 
he  fancied  his  work  already  multiplying  under 
the  hands  of  the  engraver.  Sometimes  he  spec- 
ulated as  to  the  possibility  of  his  visiting  Eu- 
rope again,  to  ensure  that  end.  At  another, 
glancing  over  the  catalogue  of  his  collection,  all 
the  difficulty  of  the  magnificent  scheme  presented 
itself.  Only  the  more  impossible  it  seemed  from 
the  grandeur  of  the  design,  and  from  the  in- 
tensity of  his  desire  to  accomplish  it.  Then 
gloomy  and  depressed,  he  asked  himself  how 
could  he,  unknown  and  unassisted,  hope  to  ac- 
complish it  ?  This  was  the  critical  moment  of 
his  career.  As  yet,  his  partial  achievements, 
though  full  of  promise,  met  with  but  little  of 
the  patronage  so  abundantly  awarded  to  more 
matured  success,  which,  itself  a  sufficient  stim 
ulus,  needs  not  the  encouragement.  The  tempt- 
ation was,  should  he  abandon  his  puisuits.  s<? 


THE  GREAT  PINE   SWAMP.  81 

fong  clerished,  so  dearly  prized  ?  That  he  felt  to 
be  impossible.  To  follow  them  at  any  rate  were 
preferable,  and  thus  renewed,  in  spirit,  with  fresh 
resolve  alternations  of  feeling  no  longer  tor- 
mented him.  Dividing  his  collection  into  sepa- 
rate parcels  of  five  plates,  he  improved  the  whole 
carefully  as  much  as  was  in  his  power.  He  then 
determined  to  retire  further  from  the  haunts  of 
men,  while  nothing  that  his  labour,  time,  or 
means  could  command,  should  be  left  undone, 
to  ensure  the  realization  of  his  plan.  Wisely  he 
toiled,  in  solitude,  and  self  sustained.  He  con- 
tinued to  explore  the  forests,  lakes,  and  prairies, 
in  order  to  enrich  his  collections,  even  penetrat- 
ing to  the  Great  Pine  swamp.  In  reaching  it, 
he  was  rattled  by  his  conductor  down  a  steep 
declivity,  edged  on  the  one  hand  by  perpen- 
dicular rocks ;  on  the  other,  by  a  noisy  stream, 
which  seemed  to  threaten  the  approach  of  stran- 
gers. The  thick  growth  of  pines  and  laurels 
rendered  the  swamp  one  mass  of  darkness.  But, 
wiih  his  gun  and  note-book,  Audubon  struggled 
through  its  mazes,  now  lingering  to  enrich  his 
portfolio,  while  wild  turkeys,  pheasants,  and 
grouse  hovered  about  his  feet,  now  beguiling 
his  toil  by  listening  to  the  poetry  of  Burns,  read 
aloud  by  his  companion  while  he  polished  some 
Hketch  in  hand. 

On  one  occasion,  during  his  wanderings,  wher 


52  AUDUBON  THE  NATUKALIST. 

Audubon's  ingenuity  was  put  to  the  test,  his 
talents  as  an  artist  stood  him  in  good  stead 
While  on  the  shores  of  Upper  Canada,  his  money 
was  stolen  from  him  by  an  adventurer,  with  all 
the  adroitness  of  a  London  pickpocket.  To  con- 
tinue his  journey  without  an  increase  to  his  few 
remaining  dollars  would  have  been  impossible ; 
so  putting  his  portfolio  under  his  arm,  and  a 
few  good  credentials  in  his  pocket,  on  reaching 
Meadville,  he  perambulated  the  principal  streets, 
in  the  hope  that  a  little  pardonable  vanity  in 
his  species,  would  favor  his  design,  and  induce 
many  a  one  to  sit  for  his  portrait.  Looking  to  the 
right  and  the  left,  he  seemed  examining  the  differ- 
ent physiognomies  with  the  critical  gaze  of  a  pain- 
ter, till  at  length,  meeting  with  what  appeared  a 
likely  subject,  attitudinizing  in  a  doorway,  he 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  sit  down,  as  he  was 
much  fatigued.  Receiving  an  assent,  he  very 
cunningly  remained  perfectly  quiet,  with  his 
portfolio  in  a  prominent  position,  till  at  length, 
the  dandy  asked  "  what  was  in  that  portfolio  ?" 
On  exhibiting  its  contents,  he  was  complimented 
oy  the  young  Hollander,  his  companion,  on  the 
execution  of  his  drawings  of  birds  and  flowers, 
when  Audubon,  showing  him  a  very  agreeable 
sketch  of  a  friend,  asked  if  he  would  like  such 
a  one  of  himself? 

The  Hollander  not  only  assented,  but  promised 


RETURN  TO   LOUISIANA.  83 

to  procure  him  other  sitters,  if  his  own  poi  trait 
were  satisfactory.  As  it  proved  perfectly  so, 
the  artist's  room  was  soon  filled  with  the  aristoc- 
racy of  the  place.  After  a  few  days  sojourn, 
the  itinerant  portrait  painter,  attired  in  his  gray 
coat,  his  long  hair  flowing  loosely  over  his 
shoulders,  was  enabled,  with  a  light  heart  and  a 
well  replenished  purse,  to  pursue  his  journey. 
After  a  lapse  of  eighteen  months,  spent  in  varied 
adventure,  Audubon  returned  to  Louisiana, 
where  his  family  then  were.  Again  he  dili- 
gently applied  himself  to  his  vocation,  and  in- 
vestigated now  every  nook  of  the  vast  extent 
of  woodland  around  that  fertile  and  beautiful 
State.  In  this,  his  favourite  resting-place,  Au- 
dubon loved  to  loiter.  Here,  magnificent  abun- 
dance in  verdure,  fruits  and  flowers,  tells  the 
richness  of  the  soil.  Huge  cypresses  interlace 
their  broad  tops,  till  no  sunbeam  can  penetrate 
their  shade  ;  in  the  swamps  of  matted  grass  and 
lichens,  turtle-doves  coo  in  hundreds  on  branches 
of  trees — alligators  plunge  into  the  pools,  and 
the  scream  of  the  heron,  and  hoarse  cry  of  the 
aiihmga,  contrast  with  the  soft  melodious  love 
notes  of  a  thousand  forest  warblers. 

Amidst  the  enchantments  of  such  scenes,  Au- 
dubon added  many  a  treasure  to  his  discoveries. 
He  pronounces  the  rich  notes,  powerful,  mellow, 
and  varied   of  the   Louisiana  water   thrush,  a 


84  AUDUBON"   THE   NATURALIST. 

resident  of  the  low  lands,  nothing  inferior  even 
to  our  boasted  nightingale  :  its  voice  is  heard  afar 
from  out  the  depths  of  the  brakes.  The  peculi- 
arity of  its  song  resembles  the  sounds  of  a  piano ; 
for,  beginning  in  an  upper  key,  it  passes  through 
the  scale  down  to  the  lowest  bass  note,  with 
the  skill  of  an  opera  artiste.  In  its  habits  as  in 
its  appearance,  it  differs  from  the  common  water 
thrush.  The  latter  is  proverbially  shy — the  for- 
mer so  ud  suspecting  as  to  allow  of  a  person's 
near  approach.  While  the  bird  found  in  the 
eastern  or  northern  regions  wades  through  the 
water,  that  of  the  south  merely  skims  over  it. 
In  flight,  it  glides  smoothly  through  the  air,  and 
does  not  ever  soar  high.  The  hermit  thrush,  so 
called,  probably  from  its  peculiar  love  of  secluded 
spots,  is  another  resident  in  Louisiana,  where  it 
abounds  even  during  the  winter  months.  It  pre- 
fers the  darkest,  lowest  solitudes,  till  the  floods, 
which  inundate  the  swamps,  compel  it  to  retire 
to  higher  lands.  Its  movements  resemble  those 
of  our  red-breasted  robin — after  hopping  a  few 
steps,  it  raises  its  head  and  looks  sagaciously 
round.  The  nests  of  this  bird  are  always  found 
on  the  low  branches  of  trees.  A  soft  plaintive 
Dote  is  the  only  utterance  of  this  aerial  hermit 
A  favourite  with  Audubon,  not  only  above  its 
fellows,  but  beyond  all  the  feathered  tribes  of 
the  forest,  was  the  wood  thrush.     As  the  har 


A  THUNDER   STORM.  85 

binger  of  returning  serenity  in  the  elements,  its 
wild  notes  were  welcomed  by  him  with  peculiar 
pleasure.  Often  it  was  his  fate  to  pass  the  night 
in  some  wretched  hut,  so  ill  constructed  as 
to  leave  him  entirely  unprotected  against  the 
storm.  The  wavering  sparks  of  his  log  fire,  ex- 
tinguished  by  the  dense  torrents  of  rain,  which 
enveloped  the  whole  Heavens  and  earth  in 
one  murky  mass,  defied  his  best  efforts  to  re- 
kindle them  ;  the  sole  light  that  met  his  eyes, 
were  the  red  streaks  of  the  thunderbolt,  which, 
scathing  in  its  course  the  stateliest  trees  close 
around  him,  was  followed  instantaneously  by 
the  crashing,  deafening  sounds  of  their  destruc- 
tion, and  the  rolling  echoes  of  the  tumult  far  and 
near.  On  such  a  night,  desolate,  indeed,  was 
Audubon's  situation;  far  from  the  sweetest 
shelter  of  home,  and  the  objects  dearest  to  his 
heart.  Weary,  hungry  and  sad,  he  had  the 
misery,  above  all,  of  anticipating  the  destruction 
of  those  treasured  possessions,  for  which  so  much 
was  relinquished  and  endured,  as  the  water,  col- 
lecting into  a  stream,  menaced  them  by  rushing 
through  his  camp,  forcing  its  miserable  inhabi- 
tant, shivering  as  in  an  ague,  to  stand  erect  and 
wait  while,  tormented  with  mosquitoes,  with  a 
martyr's  patience,  the  return  of  day  !  How  did 
his  memory  return  to  the  peaceful,  happy  days 
of  his  early  youth,  the  delights  of  his  home  and 
8 


86  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

the  embraces  of  his  family,  questioning  if  ever 
again  he  should  behold  them.  Then  as  the  first 
beams  of  morning  spread  over  the  dusky  mass  oi 
foliage,  the  musical  notes  of  the  wood  thrush 
— that  joyful  herald  of  the  day,  broke  gratefully 
upon  his  ear,  as  if  to  re-assure  his  doubting  spirit. 
Fervently  as  he  listened  did  he  bless  that  Being 
who  created  this  companion  to  console  his  soli- 
tude, cheer  his  depression,  and  sustain  his  faith 
under  all  situations.  His  fears  vanished  at  the 
inspiring  strain  of  the  songster,  and  were  re- 
placed by  buoyant  hopes.  The  heavens  gradu- 
ally cleared.  The  gladdening  rays  of  the  sun 
rising  from  the  distant  horizon  dissipated  the 
gray  mist  spread  over  the  face  of  nature,  and  in- 
creased in  intensity,  till  the  majestic  orb  shone 
in  complete  effulgence  on  the  sight,  as  the  clear 
fresh  notes  of  the  thrush  were  heard,  echoed  by 
all  the  choristers  of  the  wood.  From  its  habits, 
this  thrush  might  be  denominated  also  a  hermit 
of  the  forest ;  for  solitudes  overshadowed  by 
lofty  trees,  or  the  borders  of  murmuring  stream- 
lets, are  its  favourite  resorts.  There,  delighted 
with  the  charms  of  seclusion,  it  pours  forth  its 
mellow  song  in  "full  throated  ease,"  and  its 
music  may  be  heard  to  perfection.  It  is  scarcely 
possible  to  listen  without  that  tranquility  steal- 
ing over  the  soul,  which  the  serenity  of  the 
erene,  as  well  as  the  melody  of  the  song,  in- 


THE  WOOD  THKUSH.  87 

apires.  Though  possessing  but  few  notes,  these 
are  extraordinarily  distinct,  powerful,  harmoni- 
ous, and  clear.  Gradually  they  rise  in  strength 
— then  fall  in  gentle  cadences,  so  as  to  be 
scarcely  audible,  expressing  alternately  all  the 
emotions  of  the  lover,  who  at  one  moment  ex- 
ults in  the  realization  of  his  hopes,  the  next 
pauses  in  doubt  as  to  his  fate.  It  is  a  peculiar 
habit  among  this  species  of  bird  to  challenge 
each  other  from  different  parts  of  the  forest,  as 
if  in  rivalry,  when  their  music  is  more  than  or- 
dinarily effective,  exhibiting  a  remarkable  skill 
in  modulation.  These  concerts  which  occur 
during  the  "leafy  month  of  June,"  take  place 
generally  towards  evening,  so  that  the  notes  of 
other  "  curious  chaunters,"  who  have  retired  to 
rest,  may  not  interfere.  The  wood  thrush  glides 
swiftly  when  on  wing,  and  performs  its  migrations 
in  a  manner  characteristic  of  its  love  of  seclusion, 
singly  and  without  ever  appearing  in  the  open 
country.  It  is  frequently  seen  in  other  parts  of 
the  States  but  is  a  constant  resident  in  Louisiana, 
where  the  whole  of  its  species  congregate  from 
different  parts  for  the  winter.  The  sight  of  a 
racoon  causes  these  birds  much  distress,  and 
through  the  mournful  "  cluck"  with  which  they 
toi  low  these  animals  at  a  respectful  distance,  they 
are  unfortunately  recognized  by  the  hunters,  for 
their  flesh  is  extremely  delicate  and  juicy. 


88  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

But  unrivalled,  perhaps,  for  powers  of  melody 
and  grace  of  motion  is  the  mocking  bird,  whfch 
remains  in  Louisiana  throughout  the  year.  Ar- 
rayed in  his  soft  plumage,  delicately  blended, 
with  movements  airy  as  a  butterfly,  his  tail  ex- 
panded, and  his  lovely  wings  outspread,  he  may 
be  seen  mounting  in  the  air.  Describing  a  circle 
around  his  beloved,  he  alights  and  approaches 
her  with  beaming  delighted  eyes.  After  gently 
inclining  himself,  as  if  courteously  bowing,  he 
again  soars  upward,  and  pours  forth  an  exulting 
song  of  conquest,  as  if  his  full  breast  were  about 
to  be  rent  with  delight,  his  notes  flowing  more 
softly  and  richly  than  before,  in  varied  mo- 
dulations of  wonderfully  brilliant  execution. 
Alighting  as  at  first,  he  then  mounts  higher  in 
the  air,  and  glances  around  with  a  watchful  eye, 
lest  any  intruder  should  mar  his  bliss.  Then 
gaily  dancing  through  the  air,  as  though  to 
assure  his  companion  of  the  plenitude  of  his 
love,  his  song  flows  afresh  in  imitation  of  every 
other  warbler  of  the  grove,  and  may  be  often 
heard  to  mimic,  even  quadrupeds,  with  ease. 
There  appears  to  be  no  foundation,  however, 
for  the  assertion  of  his  ability  to  imitate  the 
human  voice. 

At  a  certain  note  from  his  beloved,  the  mock 
ing  bird,  in  order  to  know  her  wishes,  ceases  his 
eong.     They  then  mutually  inspect  the  sweet- 


THE  RUBY-THROATED  HUMMING  BIRD.      89 

Drier  bushes  or  orange  tree  of  some  garden  for  a 
place  in  which  to  prepare  a  nest.  Frequently 
the  mocking  bird  may  be  seen  bearing  food  in 
his  mouth  for  his  companion,  when  he  flies  to 
the  nest  to  secure  her  caresses  and  thanks.  Dew- 
belies,  garden  fruits,  and  sometimes  insects, 
form  their  food.  These  birds  are  especially  care- 
ful of  their  young,  and  should  they  perceive  that 
some  intruder  has  visited  their  nest,  they  may  be 
heard  with  low  mournful  notes  condoling  to- 
gether. Different  kinds  of  snakes  ascend  to  theii 
retreats,  and  frequently  destroy  the  brood,  when 
not  only  the  pair  to  which  the  nest  belongs,  but 
many  other  birds  of  the  tribe  league  together 
for  revenge,  fly  to  the  spot,  attack  the  reptile, 
and  either  force  him  to  retreat,  or  else  deprive 
him  of  life.  So  much  veneration  is  felt  for  the 
mocking  bird  throughout  Louisiana,  that  one 
is  seldom  permitted  to  be  shot. 

Keturning  with  the  promise  of  Spring,  and 
the  very  first  genial  rays  of  the  sun,  as  early  as 
the  ninth  or  tenth  of  March,  the  ruby-throated 
humming  bird  appears  in  the  Louisiana  woods; 
visiting  in  turn  prairies,  fields,  orchards,  and  se 
eluded  shades  of  the  forest,  may  be  seen  this 
bright  aerial  wanderer  in  its  gorgeous  chameleon 
hues,  sparkling  in  the  air  like  a  fragment  of  the 
rainbow.  Naturalists  unite  in  describing  rap- 
turously this  most  exquisitely  apparelled  winged 
8* 


90  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

creature.  "  Now  it  flutters  from  flower  to  flower, 
to  sip  the  silver  dew — it  is  now  a  ruby — now 
a  topaz — now  an  emerald — now  all  burnished 
gold!"* 

Fluttering  with  airy  graceful  motion  from 
flower  to  flower,  it  speeds  on  humming  winglets 
so  lightly  as  to  seem  upheld  by  magic.  The 
dazzling  beauty  of  its  delicate  form,  clothed  in 
plumage  of  resplendent  changing  green,  is  in- 
creased by  the  brilliancy  of  its  throat,  now  glow- 
ing with  fiery  hue,  now  transformed  into  a  deep 
velvet-like  black,  as  throwing  itself  onwards 
with  inconceivable  vivacity  and  swiftness,  it 
darts  like  a  gleam  of  light  upon  the  eye.  Skim- 
ming on  fairy  wing,  it  carefully  approaches  the 
opening  blossoms.  Poised  in  the  air,  its  spark- 
ling eye  peeps  cautiously  into  their  immost  re- 
cesses, like  a  skilful  florist,  careful  to  remove  the 
hurtful  insects  that  lurk  within  their  beauteous 
petals,  and  threaten  them  with  decay.  In  this 
process  so  light  and  rapid  are  the  motions  of  its 
ethereal  pinions,  that  they  seem  rather  to  fan  and 
cool  the  flower,  than  injure  its  fragile  loveliness, 
while  the  dreamy  murmuring  of  the  bird,  lulling 
the  insects  to  repose,  hastens  the  moment  of  theii 
destruction.  Instantly  as  the  delicate  bill  of  the 
bird  enters  the  flower  cup,  the  enemy  is  irawn 

•Charles  Waterton's  "Wanderings,  p.  114 


THE  RUBY-THROATED   HUMMING  BIRD.      91 

forth  and  dispatched  in  a  moment,  when  the 
bird  departs,  after  sipping  a  little  of  the  liquid 
honey  gratefully  given  by  the  flower  to  ita 
champion.  This  beautiful  creature  seems  to  pos- 
sess great  activity  of  flight.  "  The  whole  struc- 
ture of  these  birds  is  adapted  for  flight;  their 
feet  are  very  small,  their  tail  is  large,  their  wings 
are  very  long  and  narrow."*  Sometimes,  the 
humming  of  its  wings  telling  its  approach,  it  is 
seen  within  a  few  feet,  when  one  is  suddenly 
astonished  at  the  rapidity  with  which  it  soars, 
and  is  out  of  sight  and  hearing  in  a  moment. 
Its  flight  is  performed  in  long  undulations.  It 
does  not  alight  on  the  ground,  but  settles  on 
twigs  and  branches,  where  it  moves  sideways  in 
prettily  measured  steps,  often  opening  and  shut- 
ting its  wings  in  "  silent  ecstasy."  After  pluming 
and  shaking,  as  if  arranging  its  splendid  apparel, 
it  is  fond  of  spreading  one  wing  at  a  time,  and 
passing  each  of  the  feathers  through  its  bill,  the 
wing  being  thus  rendered  extremely  transparent, 
and  glittering  in  the  light.  Not  unfcequently 
it  is  chased  by  a  large  kind  of  humbla  bee,  of 
which  it  haughtily  disdains  to  take  notice,  as  in 
a  minute  its  rapid  journeying  leaves  the  drone 
far  behind.  Its  nest  is  of  a  peculiarly  delicate 
nature,  the  outer  parts  being  of  a  light  #ray 

*  White's  Popular  History  of  Birds,  p   66. 


92  AUDUBON   THE   ^ATUKALIST. 

lichen,  so  neatly  arranged  on  the  branches  of 
the  trees,  as  to  seem  a  portion  of  the  stem  to 
which  it  is  fixed.  The  next  coating  is  of  a  cot- 
ton substance,  and  the  innermost  of  the  silky 
pods  of  various  plants,  extremely  soft  and  com- 
fortable. No  sooner  are  the  young  able  to  pro- 
vide for  themselves,  than  they  associate  with 
other  broods,  and  perform  their  migrations  apart 
from  -the  old  birds.  Enterprising  as  travellers, 
they  are  possessed  of  singular  hardihood,  as  well 
as  marvellous  beauty,  visiting  dreary  and  inclem- 
ent regions,  such  as  Patagonia  and  Canada. 
Twenty  or  thirty  young  ones  may  be  seen  sport- 
ing amidst  a  group  of  flowers,  and  not  a  single 
old  one  to  be  found.  They  receive  a  portion  oi 
sustenance  from  most  plants,  but  are  especially 
fond  of  the  sweet  trumpet  flower  and  honey- 
suckle. They  sip  the  nectar,  in  order  to  allay 
their  thirst,  making  their  meals  of  more  substan- 
tial nourishment.  As  the  humming  bird  does 
not  shun  mankind  like  the  more  timid  of  the 
feathered  tribes,  it  is  often  imprisoned  and  sup- 
plied with  artificial  flowers,  in  the  corollas  of 
which  honey,  with  water,  or  dissolved  sugar  ig 
placed.  On  this  diet,  however,  it  seldom  lives 
many  months,  owing  probably  to  the  absence  oi 
its  general  food — the  minute  insects  found  in  or 
among  living  flowers. 

Kivalling  these  in  splendour  are  the  cinny  ris  of 


THE  SUN  BIRDS.  93 

sun  birds,  of  which  the  rich  and  dazzling  huea 
seen  gleaming  in  the  light,  have  earned  for  their 
the  graceful  and  appropriate  appellation  ol 
"  atoms  of  the  rainbow." 

"  Ethereal,  gay,  and  sprightly  in  their  motions, 
flitting  briskly  from  flower  to  flower,  they  assume 
a  thousand  lovely  and  agreeable  attitudes.  As 
the  sunbeams  glitter  on  their  bodies,  they  sparkle 
like  so  many  precious  stones,  and  exhibit  as 
they  turn  a  variety  of  bright  and  iridescent 
hues.  Some  are  emerald-green,  some  vivid  vio- 
let, and  others  yellow  with  crimson  wing."* 
But  it  is  to  the  gorgeous  vegetation  of  the  east 
that  these  matchlessly  attired  songsters  lend  their 
brilliance,  where,  lingering  midst  the  rich  blos- 
soms, they  gleam,  outrivalling  the  flowers  dyed 
in  crimson,  violet,  or  gold. 

•Adams  in  Belcher,  Voyage  XL 


94  AUDUBON   THE  NATURALIST. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

TN  a  certain  section  on  the  Mississippi  River, 
-^  there  is  an  extensive  swamp,  interesting  to  all 
lovers  of  natnral  philosophy,  from  its  rare  and 
curious  abundance  of- birds,  animals,  and  reptiles. 
This  swamp  follows  the  windings  of  the  Yazoo, 
till  that  river  breaks  off  to  the  north-east,  form- 
ing at  that  point  the  stream  named  Cold  Water 
River.  Audubon,  during  his  rambles  about  its 
banks,  chanced  to  meet  with  a  squatter's  cabin. 
The  owner,  like  most  other  settlers  in  such  dis- 
tricts, was  a  lover  of  adventure,  and  so  well 
versed  in  the  chase,  as  to  be  intimately  acquaint- 
ed with  the  habits  of  birds  and  quadrupeds. 
Audubon,  immediately  on  entering  the  hut,  con- 
versed with  the  settler  respecting  the  situation 
and  productions  of  the  swamp.  The  answers 
he  received  were  such  as  to  increase  his  interest 
on  the  spot.  He  then  requested  the  favour  that 
his  host  would  guide  him  through  the  morasses, 
and  welcome  guest  as  he  was,  instantly  found 
this,  like  all  his  other  wishes  was  cordially  as- 
sented to.     An  evening  of  pleasant   quietude, 


A   HUNTING   PARTY.  95 

during  which,  many  an  entertaining  recital  was 
alternately  made,  closed  at  length  into  night, 
when  all  betook  themselves  to  their  pallets  of 
bearskin,  on  the  floor  of  the  only  apartment  the 
hut  contained.  With  the  return  of  dawn,  Audu- 
oon  was  awakened  by  the  settler's  call  to  his  dogs, 
>f  which  the  numbers  had  been  greatly  dimin- 
ish )d — he  was  informed  on  joining  his  host — by 
the  ravages  of  the  cougar  or  American  panther, 
which  frequented  the  neighbourhood.  Added  to 
these  devastations  it  had  committed  many  feats 
of  singular  audacity,  all  which  were  related  by 
the  settler,  in  order  to  impress  upon  Audubon 
the  formidable  character  of  the  animal. 

But  the  Naturalist,  nothing  daunted,  was  de- 
lighted by  the  description,  and  equally  to  the 
surprise  and  satisfaction  of  his  host,  assured  him 
how  pleased  he  should  be  to  assist  in  the  attack, 
and,  if  possible,  the  destruction  of  the  enemy. 
The  suggestion  was  gratefully  received,  and  the 
settler  after  scouring  the  country  in  search  of 
candidates  for  the  adventure,  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  appointing  a  day  of  meeting.  Ac- 
cordingly, one  morning  as  the  sun  rose  brightly, 
five  hunters  on  horseback,  fully  equipped  for  the 
chase,  presented  themselves  at  the  door  of  the 
cabin.  They  were  soon  joined  by  Audubon  and 
his  companion,  mounted  on  trusty  animals — the 
whole  cavalcade  followed,  not  only  by  the  set 


96  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

tier's  dogs,  but  the  packs  which  attended  the 
strangers.  Intent  upon  their  enterprise,  the 
party  proceeded  in  silence  till  they  arrived  at  the 
edge  of  a  swamp,  when  call  agreed  to  disperse  and 
separately  seek  the  track  of  the  panther,  with  the 
condition  that  the  triumphant  discoverer  shouk 
remain  to  keep  guard  on  the  spot,  till  joined  bv 
the  rest  of  the  retinue.  They  had  not  long  to 
wait  the  exciting  signal.  In  less  than  two  hours 
the  horn  was  distinctly  heard.  Guided  by  its 
repeated  call,  the  place  of  rendezvous  w;is  soon 
reached.  The  most  reliable  dog  was  then  sent 
forward  to  scent  the  track  of  the  formidable 
cougar,  and  its  course  was  told  as  the  whole 
pack,  following  their  leader,  bore  towards  the 
interior  of  the  swamp.  The  huntsmen  with 
their  rifles  in  great  trim  pressed  on  their  rear, 
determined  to  have  the  panther  or  nothing  for 
their  prey. 

The  dogs  continued  to  quicken  their  pace  and 
increase  their  noise^  when  suddenly  their  bark- 
ing altered,  from  which  it  was  evident  that  the 
animal  was  treed,  that  is,  he  had  ascended  a  tree 
for  safety  or  to  rest  for  a  few  moments.*  Should 
it  not  be  shot  when  thus  situated,  a  long  chase 
must  ensue.     At  this  critical  moment,  the  hunt- 

*  When  "treed,"  panthers  will  ascend  to  the  highest  limb* 
of  the  tallest  trees  to  gain  a  perfect  security. 


ENCOUNTER  WITH  THE  COUGAR.  97 

ers,  repressing  their  eagerness,  moved  their  well- 
trained  horses  cautiously  forward.  A  shot  was 
heard.  The  cougar  leapt  to  the  ground,  but 
again  bounded  off,  the  dogs  now  darting  in  pur- 
suit, with  deafening  cries,  still  towards  the  cen- 
tre of  the  swamp.  A  slight  trail  of  blood  upon 
the  ground  convinced  the  pursuers  that  the  mon- 
ster had  not  been  aimed  at  in  vain. 

On  sped  the  hounds,  till  the  horses,  spurred 
forwards  and  emulating  their  swift  march,  be- 
gan to  pant  in  the  chase.  The  panther  being 
wounded,  the  wily  hunters  well  knew  he  would 
soon  ascend  another  tree  for  refuge.  Dismount- 
ing then  their  weary  horses,  the  combatants, 
nothing  disheartened,  pressed  forward  on  foot 
Pools,  one  after  another,  still  larger  and  more 
stagnant,  fallen  trees  and  tangled  brushwood, 
which  covered  acres  of  the  ground,  were  soon 
crossed.  After  a  march  of  two  hours  again,  the 
exciting  cry  of  the  hounds  was  heard.  Stimu- 
lated still  more  in  the  chase,  each  one,  elated 
with  the  hope  of  being  the  first  to  terminate 
the  career  of  the  terrible  cougar,  seemed  ani- 
mated with  the  indomitable  ambition  of  Hercu- 
les, Theseus,  or  St.  George.  At  last,  from  the 
peculiar  barking  of  the  dogs,  they  knew  the 
cougar  was  again  treed,  and  this  time,  as  they 
approached,  beheld  the  ferocious  animal  dis- 
tinctly, lying  across  the  huge  trunk  of  a  cotton- 
9  o 


98  AUDUBON"   THE   NATURALIST. 

wood  tree.  His  eyes  alternately  glanced  at  hia 
pursuers,  and  the  dogs  around  and  beneath  him. 
His  wounded  fore-leg  hung  loosely,  as  he 
crouched,  with  his  ears  close  to  his  head,  as 
though  designincr  to  remain  undiscovered.  On 
a  given  signal,  three  balls  were  discharged ; 
when  the  monster,  smitten  with  the  agony  of 
the  blow,  sprung  a  few  feet  from  the  tree,  and 
then  fell  headlong  to  the  earth. 

Attacked  on  all  sides,  he  fought  with  infuri- 
ated desperation  ;  till  the  bold  settler,  advancing 
in  front  of  the  cavalcade,  struck  him  a  fatal 
blow.  For  a  moment  he  writhed  in  agony,  the 
next  lay  dead,  as  shouts  from  the  combatants 
told  the  victory  was  won. 

To  celebrate  it,  the  cougar  was  despoiled  of 
his  skin  for  a  trophy,  and  a  camp  festival  was 
held  on  the  spot  by  the  victors.  Beside  a  blaz- 
ing fire,  with  venison  and  whisky  for  their 
cheer,  stories  and  songs  went  round ;  till, 
wearied  with  the  toils  of  war,  they  laid  them- 
selves down,  and  were  soon  asleep.  The  only 
booty  of,  the  fray,  the  cougar's  skin,  remained 
in  the  possession  of  the  settler,  in  order  that, 
while  gazing  on  it,  he  might  congratulate  him 
self  on  the  extinction  of  the  much  dreaded 
destroyer  of  his  stock. 

An  incident,  not  less  memorable  than  this  en* 
counter  with  the  cougar,  occurred  to  Audubon 


A  SUSPICIOUS  APPEARANCE.  99 

while  on  another  occasion  penetrating  the  for 
midable  interior  of  an  American  swamp.  A 
sultry  noon  rendered  it  dangerous  to  lingei 
midst  the  pernicious  effluvia  with  which  exces- 
sive heat  impregnates  the  dense  atmosphere  of 
their  morasses. 

Audubon,  therefore,  laden  with  the  double 
burden  of  his  weighty  gun,  and  a  rich  booty  of 
wood  ibises,  directed  his  course  towards  home. 
Unexpectedly  he  came  upon  the  banks  of  a  miry 
pool.  As  he  could  not  ascertain  the  depth  of 
the  water,  owing  to  its  muddiness,  he  thought  it 
best,  while  wading  through  it,  to  dispense  with 
his  burden,  which  he  flung  to  the  opposite  mar- 
gin. Then  drawing  his  knife,  as  a  defence 
against  alligators,  he  plunged  into  the  pool,  fol- 
lowed by  his  faithful  Plato. 

Soon  he  had  reason  to  think  that  alligators 
were  not  the  only  enemies  to  be  feared. 
Scarcely  had  he  reached  the  shore,  when  his 
dog  exhibited  unmistakeable  signs  of  terror  at 
some  discovery  he  was  the  first  to  make.  Au- 
dubon supposing  his  fear  to  proceed  from  the 
scent  of  some  bear  or  wolf,  put  his  hand  on  his 
gun,  when  he  was  enlightened  as  to  the  cause 
of  alarm  by  a  loud  voice,  which  commanded  him 
to  "  stand  still,  or  die."  Astonished  and  indig- 
nant at  so  singular  and  peremptory  a  mandate, 
ne  determined  to  resist  it,  no  matter  from  whom 


100  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

it  proceeded;  and  instantly  cocked  his  gun, 
though  unable  to  perceive  the  hidden  chal- 
lenger. 

Presently  a  stout  negro  emerged  from  his 
lurking  place,  where  he  had  crouched  in  the 
brushwood,  and  repeated  his  command  in  a  still 
more  threatening  tone. 

Audubon  perceiving,  however,  the  worthless- 
ness  of  the  gun  which  his  enemy  was  about  to 
aim  at  his  breast,  forbore  to  use  his  own,  and 
only  gently  tapped  his  trusty  Plato.  He  had 
no  reason  to  regret  the  forbearance,  for  the  ne- 
gro, instead  of  endeavouring  to  take  advantage 
of  it,  seemed  entirely  disarmed  by  such  gen- 
erosity. In  answer  to  Audubon's  inquiries,  his 
simple  story  was  soon  told,  and  the  energetic  de- 
monstrations of  the  poor  runaway  were  seemingly 
fully  accounted  for  by  other  than  guilty  motives. 
In  constant  apprehension  of  pursuit,  his  dread 
of  capture  caused  him  at  the  least  signal  of  alarm, 
he  said,  to  stand  on  the  defensive.  "  Master," 
he  continued,  my  tale  is  short  and  sorrowful. 
My  camp  is  close  by.  You  cannot  reach  home 
to-night.  If  you  will  follow  me,  depend  upon 
my  honour  that  you  shall  be  safe  until  the  morn- 
ing, when,  if  you  please,  I  will  carry  your  birds 
for  you  to  the  Great  Road."  As  he  spoke,  the 
benevolence  of  his  intelligent  eyes,  with  the  at- 
traction of  his  voice  and  manner,  so  assured 


THE  FUGITIVE.  101 

Audubon — never  unnecessarily  suspicious — that 
he  assented,  with  a  slight  emphasis,  however,  on 
the  phrase  that  he  would  follow  him. 

The  negro,  observing  it,  in  order  to  put  hia 
companion  at  ease,  then  threw  away  the  flint  and 
priming  of  his  gun.  His  knife  he  presented  to 
Audubon,  who,  desirous  of  showing  equal  gen- 
erosity, refused  it.  On  they  went  through  the 
woods  together,  Audubon  not  failing  to  observe 
that  the  course  they  pursued  was  directly  con- 
trary to  his  homeward  road.  After  travelling 
some  distance,  the  negro  leading  the  way,  with 
the  accuracy  of  a  redskin,  over  tangled  swamps, 
and  stagnant  streams,  Audubon  was  startled 
by  a  loud  shriek  from  his  companion.  In- 
voluntarily he  again  levelled  his  gun.  "No 
harm,  master,"  said  the  negro  in  answer,  "  I 
only  give  notice  to  my  wife  and  children  of 
my  approach."  The  signal  was  answered  in 
gentler  tones  from  female  lips,  when  an  expres- 
sion of  delight,  which  disclosed  his  ivory  teeth, 
lightened  across  the  negro's  countenance.  "  Mas- 
ter," he  said,  with  a  winning  simplicity,  "my  wife, 
though  black,  is  as  beautiful  to  me  as  the  Presi- 
dent's wife  is  to  him.  She  is  my  queen,  and  our 
young  ones  are  our  princes.  But  you  shall  see 
them,  for  here  they  all  are,  thank  God."  They 
Boon  reached  the  very  heart  of  a  cane  brake,  and 
here  the  poor  fugitives  had  formed  their  camp, 
9* 


102  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

the  few  possessions  of  which  were  neatly  and 
carefully  disposed.  The  kindly  demeanour  of 
the  negro,  together  with  the  amiable  expression 
of  his  affection  for  his  family,  had  now  com- 
pletely won  Audubon's  confidence.  Convinced 
of  his  host's  good  intentions,  and  the  sincerity  of 
his  hospitality,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  remain  be 
neath  his  roof.  While  he  received  every  atten- 
tion which  could  ensure  his  comfort,  the  children 
caressed  his  dog,  and  after  partaking  heartily 
of  a  savoury  repast,  he  eagerly  listened  to  the 
painful  recital  of  the  negro's  trials. 

The  master  to  whom  he  and  his  family  had  at 
first  belonged,  had  been  obliged,  in  consequence 
of  some  heavy  losses  he  had  sustained,  to  offer 
them  for  sale.  The  negro  was  purchased  by  a 
planter — his  wife  became  the  possession  of  an- 
other, a  hundred  miles  distant,  and  the  children 
were  hurried  to  different  places.  The  loving 
heart  of  the  slave  was  overwhelmed  with  grief 
at  the  calamity  of  this  great  loss.  For  a  time 
entirely  prostrated  by  the  misfortune,  he  sor- 
rowed in  the  deepest  dejection,  without  energy 
or  hope.  At  length  the  powers  of  resistance 
awakened.  He  resolved  to  act  boldly  and  with- 
out delay.  One  stormy  night,  when  the  fury  of 
the  hurricane  favoured  him,  by  causing  every 
one  to  seek  the  shelter  of  his  dwelling,  he  effect- 
ed his  escape,  his  intimate  knowledge  of  the 


A  TALE   OF  WRONG.  108 

neighbouring  swamps  and  brakes  facilitating  his 
design.  A  few  nights  afterwards  he  had  again 
the  joy  of  embracing  his  beloved  wife — the  next 
day  they  wandered  together. 

Through  his  caution  and  unwearied  assiduity, 
he  succeeded  in  obtaining  one  after  another  the 
children,  till  at  length  all  the  cherished  objects 
of  his  affection  were  gathered,  like  a  tender 
brood,  beneath  the  sheltering  wings  of  the  bird, 
under  his  care.  But  with  the  joy  of  this  re- 
newed protection  was  mingled  a  painful  sense  of 
responsibility,  wandering  in  dreary  wilds,  where 
scarcely  subsistence  for  one,  much  less  for  five 
human  beings  could  be  found.  He  was  tor- 
mented, moreover,  by  dread  of  seizure,  for  he 
well  knew  that  since  his  disappearance  the  for- 
est had  been  daily  ransacked  by  armed  pursuers. 
Yet  driven  by  extreme  privation  he  was  com- 
pelled to  brave  discovery  in  search  of  a  pre- 
carious provision  of  wild  fruits  and  game.  On 
one  of  these  excursions,  as  was  said,  he  had  been 
surprised  by  Audubon.  After  thus  relating  to 
him  their  secret,  both,  with  tears  in  their  eyes, 
implored  his  exertions  on  behalf  of  them  and 
their  children,  who  sweetly  slumbering,  ap- 
pealed by  their  helplessness  and  innocence  no 
less  powerfully  for  protection. 

Most  cordially  Audubon  promised  them  all 
tb.e  assistance  in  his  power.     On  tie  following 


104.  AUDUBON   THE  NATURALIST. 

lay,  Accompanied  by  the  run  away  and  his  fam- 
ily, iie  departed  from  the  hut,  leaving  the 
ibises  hung  around  the  walls  of  the  hut,  and 
many  a  notch  in  the  neighbouring  trees  as  a  me- 
mento >f  his  presence.  They  then  bent  then- 
way  tov-ards  the  dwelling  of  the  negro's  first 
master.  On  arriving  there,  they  were  received 
with  the  most  generous  kindness.  At  the  re- 
quest of  Audubon,  according  to  the  desire  of  the 
fugitives,  they  were  repurchased  from  their  late 
master,  and  admitted  once  again  into  the  be- 
nevolent planter's  family,  were  ever  after  regard- 
ed as  a  part  of  it,  and  gratefully  remembered  the 
good  fortune  which  had  brought  Audubon  to 
them  as  a  guest. 

Rich  in  interest  as  are  the  environs  of  the 
Mississippi,  not  less  so  is  the  extraordinary  river 
itselfj  exhibiting  on  the  recurrence  of  certain 
seasons,  that  truly  marvellous  spectacle,  appall- 
ing in  its  splendour,  known  as  a  Flood.  With 
the  sudden  melting  of  the  snow  which  had  en- 
wrapt  the  mountains  during  the  severity  of 
winter,  an  enormous  volume  of  water  turbid 
and  swollen,  inundates  its  broad  channels.  Its 
magnitude  may  be  imagined,  from  the  gigantic 
dimensions  of  this  stream,  the  course  of  which  is 
several  thousand  miles  in  extent.  At  the  periods 
of  inundation,  the  waters  of  the  Ohio  sometimes 
mingle  with  those  of  the  Mississippi,  and  then  it 


A  FLOOD  AND  ITS  EFFECTS.  10ft 

is  when  in  combination,  when  vast  rivers  are 
booming  on  in  their  united  force,  that  they  are 
seen  in  all  their  magnificence.  The  waters,  hav- 
ing reached  the  upper  part  of  the  banks,  then 
rush  forth,  overspreading  the  whole  of  the  ad 
jacent  swamps,  till  all  appears  one  vast  ocean, 
above  which  a  few  tall  forest  trees  show  theii 
tops,  all  else  submerged  beneath  the  waste,  til) 
at  length  undermined,  they  are  seen  to  give  way 
and  disappear;  while  stupendous  eddies  engulph 
whole  tracts  of  the  land.  Foaming,  seething, 
and  boiling,  the  torrent  rushes,  one  huge  and 
overpowering  mass,  fraught  with  terror  and  de- 
struction, impetuously  and  irresistibly  on,  swal- 
lowing for  ever  the  horses,  bears  and  deer,  which 
attempt  to  cross  its  relentless  surface.  Eagles 
and  vultures,  the  grim  attendants  of  mortality 
alone  are  seen,  unmindful  of  the  flood,  and  in- 
tent upon  their  prey. 

Meanwhile,  the  inhabitants,  terror-stricken  at 
the  sudden  inundation,  their  ingenuity  quickened 
by  the  terrible  doom  it  threatens,  exert  their  ut- 
most to  escape  the  horrors  of  the  raging  element 
The  Indian  hastens  to  the  hills  of  the  interior. 
Dwellers  on  the  banks  of  the  river  may  be  seen 
removing  themselves  and  their  possessions  on 
rafts,  which  they  fasten  with  ropes  or  grape 
vines  to  the  larger  trees,  hurrying  to  unknown 
hemes,  while  witnessing  the  melancholy  sight  of 


106  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

the  destruction  of  their  houses  by  the  current* 
Boats  are  tossed  like  playthings  by  the  waters, 
and  even  the  steam-vessels  groan,  distressed  by 
the  number  of  logs  and  branches,  which  float 
alongside,  impeding  their  course. 

Here  and  there  along  the  shore,  the  entire  pop- 
ulation of  a  district  congregate  to  strengthen 
and  repair  the  artificial  barrier  or  leve'e,  as  it  is 
called,  several  feet  above  the  general  level  of  the 
ground,  which  prudence  has  raised  as  a  defence 
against  the  overflow.  Yet  sometimes,  in  spite 
of  all  exertions,  a  crevace  or  channel  opens,  and 
the  water  bursting  in,  lays  waste  all  the  crops 
lately  luxuriating  in  the  bloom  of  spring.  In 
the  vast  tracts  of  the  interior  country,  over- 
whelmed by  the  waters,  all  is  silent  and  melan- 
choly. The  mournful  bleating  of  the  deer  alone 
is  heard,  or  the  dismal  scream  of  the  ravens  or 
eagles,  which,  brooding  over  the  desolation,  allay 
their  ravenous  appetites  on  the  wretched  rem- 
nants of  the  catastrophe.  Bears,  cougars,  and 
lynxes  crouch  among  the  topmost  branches  of 
the  trees,  glaring  down  with  ferocious,  restless 
glance;  for,  agonized  perhaps  with  the  pangs  of 
hunger,  though  beholding  around  them  abun- 
dance of  animals  as  their  prey,  they  dare  not 
orave  the  glistening  sheet  of  waters  beneath. 
A.t  such  times  they  would  quietly  stand  the 
hunter's  fire,  preferring  instant  destruction  to  the 


SUBSIDING  OF  THE  WATERS.  10r 

misery  of  a  lingering  doom  midst  the  desolation 
of  the  earth. 

With  the  subsiding  of  the  waters,  at  length 
carried  to  the  ocean,  a  thick  deposit  of  loam  is 
left  on  those  parts  which  the  flood  has  visited ; 
from  which,  in  warm  weather,  an  exhalation  like 
a  dense  fog  arises.  Extraordinary  are  the  trans- 
formations effected  by  the  inundation.  Large 
streams  appear  where  none  were  supposed  to 
exist.  Sand  banks  whirled  by  the  waters  have 
been  deposited  in  fresh  places,  and  trees  have 
disappeared  from  the  margin  of  streams,  while 
the  upper  portions  of  islands  appear  like  a  bul- 
wark of  floating  trunks  and  branches.  Soon, 
however,  all  is  fresh  life  and  vigour.  Lamenta- 
tion for  the  devastations  is  exchanged  for  activity 
m  repairing  them. 

The  settler  shoulders  his  rifle  and  searches  the 
morass  in  the  hope  of  discovering  some  of  hia 
scattered  possessions.  New  defences  are  raised 
and  new  habitations  erected.  Lands  are  ploughed 
and  fresn  crops  are  raised.  Yet  many  a  dis- 
appointment and  many  a  mis-adventure  im- 
pends from  the  catastrophe,  and  many  a  traveller 
finds  a  bank  of  sand  which,  seemingly  secure, 
suddenly  gives  way  beneath  his  horse,  which  it 
engulphs  to  the  chest,  leaving  his  master  not  in 
the  situation  he  would  choose. 

During  several  weeks  these  floods  rise  at  the 


108  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

rate  of  a  foot  a-day.  When  at  the  highest  they 
undergo  little  fluctuation  for  some  days,  after 
which  they  gradually  subside.  Their  usual  dur« 
ation,  from  four  to  six  weeks,  is  occasionally 
protracted  to  two  montha. 


PERSEVERING  TOIL.  109 


CHAPTER    IX. 

VTOT  WITHSTANDING  years  of  toil  devoted 

-^  by  Audubon  to  ensure  the  achievement  of 
his  cherished  plan,  disappointments  and  imped- 
iments continued  long  to  test  the  strength  of 
his  resolution  and  the  power  of  his  faith.  Yet 
such  was  the  vigour  and  elevation  of  his  genius 
that  vicissitudes  seemed  only  to  increase  the 
elasticity  of  his  naturally  buoyant  spirits,  and 
impart  a  more  indomitable  fervour  to  his  en- 
thusiasm. 

Irrepressible  by  trial  from  without — the  chill 
of  uncongenial  contact  or  contest  with  the  harsh 
inexorable  conditions  of  expediency,  his  genius 
possessed  an  imperishable  spring  within  itself 
which  no  opposing  external  force  could  destroy. 
Intrinsically  it  was  the  source  of  unequalled 
pleasures  and  satisfactions — themselves  a  rich 
reward,  a  perpetual  consolation  and  assistance. 
Fiom  the  arguments  of  interested  or  sordid 
policy,  the  coldness  of  skepticism,  the  apathy  of 
ignorance  or  selfishness,  he  took  refuge  in  the 
seclusion  of  his  beloved  woods.  There,  in 
10 


L10  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

boundless  freedom,  he  found  a  congenial  atmos- 
phere, and  enjoyed  that  simpathy  which  too 
frequently  failed  him  among  men,  in  the  melo- 
dious language  of  the  forest  songsters.  Contem- 
plating, moreover,  the  wisdom  and  unerring 
compassion  of  the  Creator  in  the  splendour  of  his 
works,  his  constancy  was  renewed  by  reliance. 
At  night  his  rude  couch  was  the  verdure-fringed 
margin  of  a  brook,  the  interior  of  some  untrav- 
elled  forest,  or  the  soft  sands  of  the  sea-shore. 
Aroused  at  early  dawn,  he  was  invigourated  by 
healthful  sleep,  to  wander  for  days  and  weeks  in 
the  pure  air,  partaking  of  his  simple  repasts 
under  the  shelter  of  green  boughs.  As  evening 
approached,  sending  the  birds  to  their  retreats, 
and  darkness  enshrouded  the  earth,  the  nat- 
uralist, grateful  to  the  Divine  protection  in  his 
solitude,  knelt  in  prayer.  Then  as  he  dreamily 
sunk  into  repose  pleasant  images  of  dear  friends 
and  home  filled  his  fancy,  and  kindly  wishes  his 
heart.  The  strength  of  his  physical  constitution 
was  thus  retained  and  even  increased.  To  this 
was  doubtless  owing  much  of  that  undiminished 
energy  and  moral  fortitude  which  enabled  him 
to  combat  so  successfully  the  ordeals  of  his 
career.  The  inability  to  publish  his  illustrations 
in  America  was  naturally  a  source  of  the  deepest 
regret.  As  the  subject  of  his  patriotic  pride,  the 
scene  of  his  efforts  and  discoveries,  associated 


VISIT  TO   EUEOPE.  Ill 

too  with  all  his  most  cherished  remembrances 
and  best  delights,  he  desired  there  first  to  wit- 
ness the  inauguration  of  his  hopes.  Yet,  in 
Philadelphia;  it  was  the  opinion  that  his  draw- 
ings could  never  be  engraved.  In  New  York 
he  met  with  no  better  success. 

At  length  he  determined  to  try  the  fate  of  his 
collection  in  Europe,  whither  in  1826,  he  directed 
his  steps.  Whether  owing  to  rare  modesty  as 
to  his  endowments,  or  an  exaggerated  estimate 
of  intellect  on  our  side  of  the  Atlantic,  he  seems 
to  have  been  overwhelmed  on  approaching  Eng- 
lish shores,  with  a  sense  of  diffidence — "  imagin- 
ing," he  says,  "  that  every  individual  he  was 
about  to  meet  might  be  possessed  of  talents 
superior  to  those  of  any  one  in  America !" 
Visiting  for  the  first  time  a  foreign  country, 
often  pictured  in  his  imagination,  its  resources 
and  acquisitions  magnified  by  contemplation, 
regarding  it  moreover  with  peculiar  interest  as 
an  arena  for  the  decision,  as  it  were,  of  his 
destiny,  such  feelings  might  naturally  arise  in 
the  unsophisticated  heart  of  the  American 
woodsman.  Without  friend  or  acquaintance 
he  could  not  anticipate  a  single  welcome  on  his 
arrival.  Soon,  however,  his  position  was  such 
as  to  cause  all  his  scruples  to  vanish.  The  letters 
of  introduction  which  he  carried  speedily  pro- 
cured him  a  large  and  influential  circle  of  friends, 


112  AUDUBOX   THE   NATURALIST. 

At  Liverpool,  his  first  resting-place,  "  hoiioura 
were  freely  accorded  to  him,  which  Philadelphia 
had  refused."  Of  the  hospitality  of  the  Kathborc 
family  he  retained  an  especially  grateful  remem- 
brance, and  mentions  with  an  enthusiasm  equal  to 
that  of  his  fellow  countryman  Irving,  the  bene- 
volent kindness  of  Mr.  Roscoe,  in  remembrance 
of  whom  he  afterwards  named  the  Sylvia  Roscoe, 
a  little  bird  rarely  met  with,  and  which  was  dis- 
covered by  Audubon  midst  the  cypresses  and 
pines  of  one  of  the  Mississippi  swamps. 

The  first  great  difficulty  of  his  career  sur- 
mounted, a  new  path  full  of  promise  seemed  to 
open  before  him.  His  drawings  had  been  ex- 
hibited, and,  tried  by  the  impartial  test  of  public 
criticism,  had  been  universally  approved.  Under 
the  genial  influence  of  this  budding  success  he 
was  disposed  to  appreciate  all  the  novelty  and 
interest  arising  from  his  European  tour.  He 
pursued  his  journey  to  Scotland  along  the  north- 
western shores  of  England,  delighted  with  the 
celebrated  cathedrals  of  our  island,  "  hung  iritb 
her  glories,"  as  well  as  with  the  picturesque 
beauty  of  the  Scottish  capital,  where  he  was 
cordially  welcomed  by  all  the  distinguished 
scientific  and  literary  characters  of  the  day. 
Here  he  produced  his  first  number  of  "  The 
Birds  of  America,"  engraved  by  Lizars.  Thence 
he  proceeded  to  the  several  towns  on  the  road 


SUCCESS  IN    MANCHESTER.  118 

to  London,  and  following  the  example  of  Wilson 
in  America,  exhibited  there  the  engravings  of 
his  work.  This  measure,  to  which  he  was 
greatly  disinclined,  he  resolved  to  take  from  the 
conviction  of  its  expediency,  as  it  promised  a 
more  immediate  recognition  than  he  could  other 
wise  obtain.  In  his  crowded  reception-room  he 
listened  to  the  varied  remarks  of  his  visitors,  and 
was  recompensed  for  the  sacrifice  of  his  feelings 
by  the  numerous  subscriptions  thus  received. 
In  Manchester  he  obtained  upwards  of  twenty 
in  one  week,  and  had  the  good  fortune  to  form 
there,  moreover,  several  friendships  which  con- 
tinued  with  him  through  life. 

Through  Chester,  Birmingham,  and  classic 
Oxford  he  continued  his  tour,  until,  with  alter- 
nating hope  and  fear,  he  approached  the  great 
metropolis  of  England.  With  mingled  admira- 
tion and  horror  this  citizen  of  the  new  world 
beheld  its  sharp  contrast  of  wretchedness  and 
magnificence — raising  his  eyes  from  squalid 
poverty  and  despairing  crime  to  noble  monu- 
ments and  mansions  of  aristocratic  pomp.  As 
the  bearer  of  numerous  introductions  to  Euro- 
pean celebrities,  from  statesmen  and  others  of  dis- 
tinction, in  his  own  country,  he  had  seemingly 
a  good  foundation  on  which  to  establish  an  inter- 
course favourable  to  his  intentions.  But  the 
busy  unceasing  engrossment  of  London  existence 

10*  H 


114  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

subjected  him  to  delay  and  disappointment 
Wandering  early  and  late,  not  a  single  one  of 
those  he  sought  could  he  find  at  home  I  Grad- 
ually, however,  through  different  mediums,  hia 
aim  was  accomplished.  An  intimacy  with  Lord 
Stanley  led  to  his  acquaintance  with  others  of 
the  nobility.  Soon  he  was  elected  member  of 
the  Linn»an  and  Zoological  Societies,  and  before 
long  artists,  men  of  science,  and  professors,  were 
among  the  list  of  his  subscribers. 

During  1828  he  again  visited  Paris,  where, 
investigating  the  many  objects  of  interest  in  the 
great  museum,  enjoying  intercourse  with  the  il- 
lustrious Cuvier  and  his  enlightened  guests,  the 
time,  pleasantly  and  profitably  spent,  passed 
quickly  away.  He  returned  to  England  for  the 
winter,  and  in  1829  sailed  once  more  for  his 
native  soil.  Notwithstanding  the  gratifying  re- 
ception he  had  met  with  in  Europe,  the  kindly 
courtesy  with  which  he  had  been  welcomed,  and 
the  honours  with  which  he  had  been  distinguished, 
the  charm  of  novelty  and  the  excitement  of  gay 
scenes,  "  with  indescribable  pleasure,"  he  tells 
us,  "  he  watched  the  outspread  wings  of  the  first 
American  wanderer  which  hovered  over  the 
waters,  and  joyfully  leapt  again  upon  the  shores 
of  the  New  World.  Scouring  the  woods  with  a 
hunter's  zeal  he  speedily  traversed  the  middle 


AN   ORIGINAL.  115 

states,  and  at  length  reached  his  favourite  Louis 
iana 

In  1830,  Audubon,  accompanied  by  his  wife 
visited  New  Orleans.  Sauntering  there  one 
morning,  he  observed  a  gentlemen,  whose  sin- 
gular appearance  attracted  his  attention.  As- 
suming to  be  another  "  odd  fish"  he  determined 
to  make  his  acquaintance. 

The  exterior  of  this  original  might  reasonably 
account  for  the  conclusion. 

A  huge  straw-hat  covered  his  head.  The 
unusually  broad  frill  of  a  shirt  fluttered  about 
his  breast,  and  a  very  remarkable  collar,  which 
left  his  neck  exposed  negligently  to  the  weather, 
fell  over  the  top  of  his  light  green  coat.  The 
delicate  hue  of  this  garment  harmonized  well  with 
the  yellow  of  his  glowing  nankeens,  and  was 
brightened  by  a  pink  waistcoat,  from  the  bosom 
of  which,  lurking  amidst  a  bunch  of  the  splendid 
magnolia  flower,  part  of  an  alligator  protruded, 
which  seemed  anxious  to  escape  its  gentle  im- 
prisonment in  folds  of  the  finest  cambric. 

In  one  of  his  hands  the  gentleman  held  a 
cage,  plentifully  furnished  with  nonpareils  as 
richly  plumed  as  himself — in  the  other  sportively 
handled  a  silk  umbrella,  on  which  could  be 
plainly  read  the  words,  "  stolen  from  I,"  painted 
in  large  white  characters. 

With  a  conscious  air,  he  strutted  along,  hum 


116  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

ming  "My  love  is  but  a  lassie  yet,"  in  such 
purely  native  fashion,  that  Audubon  would 
gladly  have  pronounced  him  a  true  Scot,  but 
for  his  unmistakably  American  tournure.  This 
conviction  excited  his  curiosity  still  more,  til) 
at  length  he  was  compelled  to  gratify  it,  by 
accosting  the  stranger  with,  "  Pray,  sir,  will  you 
allow  me  to  examine  the  birds  you  have  in  that 
cage?"  At  this  request  the  owner  of  them 
stopped,  straightened  his  body,  almost  closed  his 
left  eye,  spread  his  legs  apart,  and,  with  an  irresist- 
ibly comic  look,  answered,  "  Birds,  sir,  did  you 
say  birds  ?"  On  the  question  being  repeated,  he 
continued,  "What  do  you  know  about  birds,  sir?" 
11  Sir,"  replied  Audubon,  I  am  a  student  of  na- 
ture, and  admire  her  works,  from  the  crawling 
reptile  you  have  in  your  bosom  to  the  "human 
form  divine."  "Ah!"  replied  he,  "a — a — a  nat- 
uralist, I  suppose."  He  then  handed  the  cage, 
which  Audubon  inspected,  and  was  about  to 
take  his  departure,  when  the  stranger  requested 
that  he  would  accompany  him  to  his  lodgings. 
On  arriving  there,  they  entered  a  long  room, 
where  the  most  prominent  objects  were  a  num- 
ber of  pictures  along  the  walls,  a  table  covered 
with  painting  apparatus,  and  a  large  easel  with 
a  full  length  portait  yet  unfinished  upon  it 
Each  of  the  drawings  told  the  touch  of  a  superior 
artist.     Audubon  felt  convinced  it  could  be  no 


THE   IMPERTURBABLE   COMMODORE.       117 

other  than  his  new  companion,  and  complimented 
him  accordingly.  "  Ay,"  said  he,  "  the  world  is 
pleased  with  my  work,  I  wish  I  were  so  too  ;  but 
time  and  industry  are  necessary,  as  well  as  tal- 
ents to  make  a  good  painter.  If  you  have  lei- 
sure, and  will  stay  awhile,  I  will  show  you  how 
I  paint,  and  will  relate  to  you  an  incident  of  my 
life,  which  will  prove  to  you  how  sadly  situated 
an  artist  is  sometimes."  On  receiving  an  assent, 
he  continued :  "  Sir,  if  you  should  ever  paint, 
and  paint  portraits,  yon  will  often  meet  with  dif- 
ficulties. For  instance,  the  brave  commodore  of 
whom  this  is  the  portrait,"  pointing  to  the  picture 
occupying  the  easel  before  him,  "  the  brave  com- 
modore, though  an  excellent  man  at  everything 
else,  is  the  worst  sitter  I  ever  saw.  The  first 
morning  that  he  came  to  me,  he  was  in  full  uni- 
form, and  with  a  sword  at  his  side.  After  a  few 
minutes  conversation,  and  when  all  was  ready  on 
my  part,  I  bade  him  ascend  this  throne,  place 
himself  in  an  attitude  which  I  contemplated,  and 
assume  an  air  becoming  an  officer  of  the  navy. 
"  Well,  he  mounted,  placed  himself  as  I  had 
desired,  but  merely  looked  at  me  as  if  I  had 
been  a  block  of  stone.  I  waited  a  few  minutes, 
when,  observing  no  change  in  his  countenance, 
I  ran  the  chalk  over  the  canvass  to  form  a  rough 
outline.  This  done,  I  looked  up  to  his  face  again, 
and  opened  a  conversation  which  I  thought  would 


118  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

warm  his  warlike  nature,  but  in  vain.  I  waited 
and  talked,  waited  and  talked,  until  my  patience, 
sir — you  must  know  I  am  not  overburdened  with 
it — my  patience  being  exhausted,  I  rose,  threw  my 
pallet  and  brush  on  the  floor,  stamped,  walked 
to  and  fro  about  the  room,  and  vociferated 
such  fearful  calumnies  against  our  navy,  that  I 
startled  the  good  commodore.  Yet  he  still  looked 
at  me  with  a  plain  countenance,  and,  as  he  told 
me  since,  thought  I  had  lost  my  senses.  But  I 
observed  him  all  the  while,  and  fully  as  deter- 
mined to  carry  my  point  as  he  would  be  to  carry 
off  an  enemy's  ship,  I  gave  my  oaths  additional 
emphasis,  addressed  him  as  a  representative  of 
the  navy,  and,  steering  somewhat  clear  of  per- 
sonal insult,  played  off  my  batteries  against  the 
craft.  At  last,  the  commodore  walked  up  to  me, 
placed  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  told 
me  in  a  resolute  manner,  that  if  I  had  intended 
to  insult  the  navy,  he  would  instantly  cut  off  my 
ears.  His  features  exhibited  all  the  spirit  and 
animation  of  his  noble  nature,  and  as  I  had  now 
succeeded  in  rousing  the  lion,  I  judged  it  time 
to  retreat.  So,  changing  my  tone,  I  begged  his 
pardon,  and  told  him  he  now  looked  precisely  as 
I  wished  to  represent  him.  He  laughed,  and  re- 
turning to  his  seat,  assumed  a  bold  countenance, 
and  so,  sir,  see  the  picture !" 

From  New  Orleans,  Audubon  proceeded  again 


RESIDENCE  IN  FLORIDA.  119 

to  London,  where  he  was  presented  with  a  di- 
ploma from  the  Royal  Society.  In  addition,  he 
received  a  general  letter  of  recommendation  to  tho 
authorities  in  the  British  Colonies  from  the  Duke 
of  Sussex,  with  many  of  a  similar  nature  from 
Lord  Stanley  and  others. 

In  August  he  proceeded  a  second  time  to  the 
United  States,  and  landed  at  New  York,  where 
he  passed  a  few  days  before  proceeding  to  Phil- 
adelphia. 

Everywhere  he  was  received  with  honours  and 
courtesies.  Subscriptions  and  diplomas  were 
lavished  upon  him,  and  at  Washington  he  was 
presented  by  the  government  with  numerous 
letters  of  assistance  and  protection  along  the 
frontier,  which  it  was  his  intention  to  visit. 
After  a  visit  to  Charleston,  he  sailed  for  Florida, 
where  he  wintered  during  1831. 

In  that  fertile  and  beautiful  country,  where 
the  naturalist  may  luxuriate  midst  the  rare 
abundance  of  curious  and  interesting  objects, 
with  which  it  is  endowed,  Audubon  willingly 
loitered.  While  sojourning  there,  many  im- 
portant additions  to  his  collection  were  made. 
Wandering  on  the  beach,  fenced  by  its  beautiful 
coral,  stretching  like  a  giant  wall  along  tho 
shore,  he  could  at  leisure  contemplate  rising 
from  the  clear  depths  of  the  water,  its  curious 
inhabitants  glittering  in  a  thousand  richly  span- 


120  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

gled  dyes,  emulating  the  sea  itself  in  the  exquisite 
harmony  of  their  colouring.  Raising  his  gaze, 
he  could  look  upon  the  glowing  flamingo,  the 
rosy-hued  curlew,  the  snowy  ibis,  the  purple 
heron,  and  the  dusky  cormorant  and  pelican. 
Or  in  the  interior,  midst  tangled  groves,  dazzling 
with  gorgeous  flowers,  strange  plants,  and  luxu- 
riant trees,  where  the  pure  salubrious  air,  impreg- 
nated with  fragrance,  steals  like  balmy  breath 
along,  he  was  greeted  by  gayer  songsters,  gam- 
bolling among  the  bushes,  or  gliding  over  the 
fresh  green  waters. 

Continually  some  strange  aerial  pilgrim,  with 
which  he  was  unacquainted,  would  gladden  his 
sight.  "With  the  various  species  of  doves  to  be 
met  with  in  Florida,  he  was  particularly  de- 
lighted. The  peculiarly  gentle  and  loving  dis- 
position of  these  sweet  birds,  the  constancy  of 
their  attachment  to  each  other,  and  the  anxious 
care  exhibited  by  them  for  their  young,  are  all 
characteristics  which  render  them  of  especial 
interest.  For  Audubon,  moreover,  there  existed 
associations  with  them,  which  had  for  him  an 
irresistible  charm,  which  doubtless  led  him  to 
ask,  as  he  does  with  an  exquisite  sensibility  and 
simplicity,  "  Who  can  approach  a  sitting  dove, 
hear  its  notes  of  remonstrance,  or  feel  the  feeble 
stroke  of  its  wings,  without  being  convinced  that 
he  is  committing  a  wrong  act?"     His  first  at 


THE  ZENAIDA  DOVE.  121 

tempt  al  drawing  had  been  from  the  preserved 
specimen  of  a  dove.  Of  this  he  had  often  bee" 
reminded,  too  young  at  the  time  of  his  first  essay 
to  remember  it  in  after  years  himself. 

The  Zenaida  dove,  a  visitor  to  East  Florida 
from  the  "West  India  Islands,  is  remarkable  for 
the  indescribably  plaintive  tenderness  of  its 
cooing.  So  touching  is  its  utterance,  that  even 
to  the  heart,  hardened  by  a  life  of  crime,  it  is 
irresistible. 

A  notorious  pirate,  linked  with  a  band  of 
desperadoes,  who  menaced  the  Florida  coast, 
chancing  to  hear  its  .soft  melancholy  notes, 
lingered  till  feelings  to  which  he  had  long  been 
a  stranger,  subdued  his  spirit,  and  melted  it  to 
repentance.  It  was  effectual  too,  for,  resolved  to 
lead  a  different  career  for  the  future,  at  the  cost 
of  difficulty  and  danger,  he  effected  his  escape, 
and  returned  like  the  prodigal  to  a  rejoicing 
home. 

The  male  bird  which  first  appears  in  Florida, 
may  be  heard  cooing  for  his  companion  for  about 
a  week  before  she  arrives.  They  choose  for 
their  resting  place  spots  thickly  covered  with 
grasses  and  low  shrubs,  in  the  heart  of  which 
they  form  their  nests,  glad  if  protected  in  ad- 
dition by  a  hedge  of  sturdy  mangroves.  This 
meek,  unambitious  bird  seldom  soars  high,  and 
w\ien  crossing  the  sea  flies  close  over  the  surface 
11 


122  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

of  tie  water.  Though  so  timid,  they  are  con 
tiding,  and  will  permit  a  person's  nea^  approach. 
Thus  Audubon,  once  hoped  to  become  the  pos- 
sessor of  one  alive,  and  imagined  himself  on  the 
point  of  a  triumphant  capture,  when  th*».  dove 
turned  upon  him  her  beautiful  eye,  and  he  found 
that  his  intention  was  discovered.  Gently  she 
glided  aside  in  her  nest,  then  suddenly  took  to 
wing.  Hovering  around,  she  would  alight  with- 
in a  few  yards  of  her  beloved  nest — her  wing» 
drooping  in  sorrow,  and  her  whole  form  trem 
bling  as  if  from  severe  cold.  "  Who  could  bear 
such  a  scene  of  despair?"  exclaims  Audubon 
"  I  left  the  mother  in  security  with  her  off 
spring." 

In  the  morning,  while  concealed  beneath  some 
low  spreading  branch,  her  love-notes  are  given 
forth.  Then,  when  with  the  freshness  of  the 
morn,  the  opening  flowers  spread  out  all  their 
fragrance,  and  the  sun  with  increasing  ardour 
glances  through  the  evergreen  and  thickly  leaved 
oaks,  to  escape  which  the  owl,  swiftly  flying 
close  over  the  earth,  hastens  to  his  retreat,  and 
the  heavy  winged  bat  undulates  through  the 
dewy  air,  then  the  melodious  accents  of  hei 
most  enchanting  voice  may  best  be  heard. 

The  ground  dove,  closely  resembling  the 
Zenaida  dove  in  its  habits,  is  another  visitor  oi 
the  middle  portions  of  the  East  Florida  coast 


KEY  WEST  PIGEON.  123 

But  the  most  beautiful,  perhaps,  of  all  its  species 
is  the  Key  West  pigeon,  first  seen  by  Audubon 
at  the  place  after  which  it  is  named.  "  How  I 
gazed,"  he  tells  us,  "on  its  resplendent  plumage  1 
— how  I  watched  the  expression  of  its  richly 
coloured,  large,  and  timid  eye,  as  the  poor 
creature  gasped  its  last  breath.  Ah!  how  I 
looked  at  the  lovely  bird,  I  handled  it,  turned 
it,  examined  its  feathers  and  form,  its  bill,  its 
legs,  its  claws,  weighed  it,  and  after  a  while 
formed  a  winding  sheet  for  it  of  a  piece  of  paper. 
Did  ever  Egyptian  pharmacopolist  employ  more 
care  in  embalming  the  most  illustrious  of  the 
Pharaohs,  than  I  did,  in  trying  to  preserve  from 
injury  this  most  beautiful  of  the  woodland  covers. 
The  brilliant  plumage  of  these  birds  glitters  with 
the  most  magnificent  ever  changing  metallic 
hues,  and  appears  especially  splendid  when  they 
are  seen  in  flocks  of  from  five  to  six  at  a  time, 
performing  their  low,  swift,  protracted  flight, 
hovering  so  closely  over  the  surface  of  the  sea, 
as  to  seem  on  the  point  of  falling  into  it,  or 
speeding  to  escape  danger,  towards  the  forests. 

Early  in  the  morning  they  emerge  from  the 
thickets  to  cleanse  themselves  in  the  shelly  sands, 
surrounding  the  numerous  islands,  which  protect, 
like  fortifications,  the  Florida  shore. 

They  usually  prefer  the  darkest  solitudes  foi 
their  habitations. 


124  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 


CHAPTER  X. 

rpHROUGHOUT  the  most  part  of  the  so 
-*-  called  forests  of  East  Florida,  there  exist 
districts  which,  thinly  clad  with  woodlands,  hav- 
ing an  undergrowth  of  grass  and  shrubs,  inter- 
sperced  with  a  few  tall  pines,  are  denominated 
Pine  Barrens.  The  sole  objects  which  here 
diversify  the  continuous  flatness  of  the  soil,  are 
a  few  sluggish  pools,  around  which  the  cattle 
congregate  to  allay  their  thirst,  and  the  various 
kinds  of  game  abundant  in  their  wilds.  After  a 
course  of  miles  over  these  dreary  barrens,  the 
traveller  is  delighted  to  behold  again  the  sight 
of  sheltering  vegetation  in  wide-spreading  oaks 
and  other  trees.  In  their  vicinity  the  air  is  purer 
and  more  cool,  luxuriant  flowers  diffuse  their 
fragrance,  the  songs  of  birds  re-echo  through 
their  shade,  and  already  he  seems  refreshed  at 
the  sight,  even  of  a  clear  spring,  of  which  the 
waters  are  heard  rippling  through  the  unler- 
growth. 

Then  beneath  the  covert  of  innumerable  vines, 
he  may  seek  a  pleasant  resting-place,  above  which 
fche  jessamine  and  bignonia  fondly  intertwine. 


THE  LIVE   OAKERS.  125 

Presently  lie  sees  the  wood-cutters,  wlo,  light- 
ly attired,  shouldering  their  bright  axes,  proceed 
to  their  toils.  On  the  opposite  sides  of  some  far- 
spreading  oak  they  station  themselves,  while, 
with  continuous  blows  of  their  keen-edged  im- 
plements, they  strive  to  cleave  its  mossy  far- 
shooting  roots.  One  of  their  companions  ascends 
another  tree  stem.  Proceeding  cautiously,  he 
climbs  to  the  height  of  perhaps  forty  feet  from 
the  ground,  then  stops — measures  himself  on  the 
trunk  of  which  he  boldly  stands,  and  wields 
with  strong  muscular  arm  his  well-tempered 
steel,  till  soon  the  trunk  remains  connected  only 
by  a  thin  stripe.  Then  shaking  with  all  his 
might,  the  huge  log  is  seen  to  swing,  suddenly 
give  way,  and  striking  the  earth  with  its  weight, 
the  crash  of  its  fall  is  heard  to  re-echo  through- 
out the  neighbouring  space.  Then,  when  the 
wood-cutter  has  slidden  by  the  aid  of  a  grape- 
vine to  the  ground,  the  rest  of  his  party  con- 
gregate to  examine  the  fallen  trunk. 

This  they  cut  at  either  end,  and  if  it  is  proved 
sound,  they  proceed  to  take  its  measurement, 
and  lay  out  the  timber  for  use  by  the  aid  of 
models,  showing  the  different  forms  and  sizes 
required.  On  the  discovery  of  a  good  planta- 
tion, the  cutters,  or  Live  Oakers  as  they  are 
called,  build  themselves  log  dwellings,  in  which 
to  slumber  by  night,  and  take  their  repast  b^ 
11* 


126  AUDUBON    THE   NATURALIST. 

day ;  having  generally  an  excellent  provision  of 
beef,  biscuits,  rice,  fish  and  some  genuine  whisky. 
Arriving  from  the  eastern  and  middle  districts, 
they  annually  visit  the  Floridas.  During  summer 
they  return  to  their  families,  but  at  the  approach 
of  winter  again  set  forth  for  their  toils,  from  the 
first  of  December  to  the  beginning  of  March, 
being  the  season  for  cutting.  Sometimes  strange 
misadventures  befall  them  on  these  journeyings, 
when  fogs  so  dense  are  accustomed  to  overspread 
the  country,  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  see 
further  than  thirty  or  forty  yards  onwards.  In 
the  monotony  of  woods,  moreover,  where  the 
trees  present  exact  resemblances  to  each  other, 
and  the  grass  is  so  tall  that  a  man  of  ordinary 
stature  cannot  see  over  it,  so  difficult  is  it  to 
follow  even  a  well  known-track,  that  the  most 
practised  woodsman  is  not  unfrequently  bewil- 
dered. A  Live  Oaker  of  East  Florida,  employed 
on  St.  John's  Kiver,  left  one  day  his  cabin  on 
the  banks  of  that  stream,  to  proceed  to  the 
swamps  where  he  was  accustomed  to  labour. 

After  travelling  some  hours,  he  felt  convinced 
he  must  have  passed  the  spot  proposed. 

On  the  dispersion  of  the  fog,  he  beheld  with  as 
tonishment  the  sun  at  meridian  height,  and  dis 
mayed,  found  himself  unable  to  recognize  a  sin- 
gle object  around  Eesolved  then  to  pursue  a 
different  course,  he  turned  his  back  to  the  sun 


THE  LIVE   OAKER   OF   EAST   FLORIDA.      127 

Gradually  as  time  past,  he  saw  him  descend  in  the 
west,  and  still  all  about  him  continued  a  mystery. 
The  huge  gray  trees  spread  their  quaint  boughs, 
the  rank  grass  extended  on  all  sides,  not  a  living 
being  crossed  his  path,  all  was  silent  and  still — 
like  a  dull  and  dreary  dream  of  the  land  oj 
obliviou.  On,  on,  he  wandered  like  a  forgotten 
ghost,  which  failing  to  reach  the  spirit  land,  un- 
heeded by  the  grim  ferryman,  lingered  still 
upon  the  Stygian  shore.  The  hope  of  extri- 
cation heightened  his  imagination.  Each  fresh 
object  he  fancied  he  could  recognize,  and  search- 
ing for  land-marks,  wandered  in  reality  still  fur- 
ther from  the  right  course. 

As  evening  approached,  myriads  of  insects 
buzzed  through  the  air.  The  squirrel  retired 
to  his  hole,  the  crow  to  its  roost,  the  harsh 
croaking  of  the  heron  told,  that  full  of  anxiety 
it  sought  its  retreat  in  the  miry  interior  of  some 
distant  swamp,  the  woods  resounded  to  the  shrill 
cries  of  the  owl,  and  all  nature  warned  the  wan- 
derer to  seek  some  place  of  refuge,  as  the  breeze 
sweeping  through  the  forest  came  laden  with 
heavy  dews.  No  moon  appeared  to  irradiate 
the  scene  and  cheer  the  solitude  with  silvery 
light,  which,  "kissing  dead  things  to  life,"  sheds 
beauty  over  all.  The  lost  one,  despairing  and 
weary,  laid  himself  on  the  damp  ground,  to 
wait  with  feverish  anxiety  the  return  of  day, 


128       v       AUDUBON    THE   NATURALIST. 

his  sole  consolation  prayer  to  that  Being  evei 
peculiarly  mindful  of  the  disconsolate  and  dis- 
tressed. Dawn  brought  a  return  of  the  fog  which 
had  so  misled  the  wanderer  on  the  preceding  day. 

With  heavy  heart  he  continued  his  way, 
which  seemed  at  every  step  still  more  a  laby- 
rinth than  before.  Bewildered  with  fatigue  and 
misery,  well  nigh  despairing,  onward  he  sped, 
now  without  the  most  faintly  marked  track  to 
guide  him,  till  nigh^  closed  again  upon  his  path. 
Terror  then  took  possession  of  him,  while  the 
debility  arising  from  his  toils  and  sufferings 
prostrated  him  beneath  his  anguish,  at  the  dread- 
ful reality  of  his  situation,  increased  too  by  the 
horrors  of  an  excited  fancy. 

That  he  should  be  left  alone  there  to  perish 
of  agony  and  hunger — such  he  felt  assured 
would  be  his  fate.  Almost  frantic  at  the  sup- 
position, beating  his  breast  and  tearing  his  hair, 
he  threw  himself  down,  famished  as  he  was,  to 
feed  on  the  weeds  and  grass  around.  Another 
night  was  passed  in  indescribable  misery.  More 
than  fifty  miles  he  had  traversed  without  meet- 
ing a  single  brook  from  which  to  quench  his 
thirst,  or  allay  the  burning  fever  of  his  parched 
lips.  One  day  among  the  Barrens,  he  caught 
sight  of  a  tortoise.  Although  convinced  that 
were  he  to  follow  it,  he  must  at  length  find 
some  water,  such  was  the   fearful   craving  of 


HIS    WANDERINGS.  129 

his  thirst  and  hunger,  that  he  was  compelled 
at  once  to  gratify  both,  by  eating  its  flesh  and 
drinking  its  blood. 

The  following  morning,  somewhat  refreshed, 
he  renewed  his  endless  march.  The  sun  rose 
brightly,  and  he  followed  the  direction  of  its 
shadows.  Day  after  day,  weeks  even  passed, 
and  the  poor  Live  Oaker  still  toiled  hopelessly 
on,  feeding  on  weeds,  frogs,  or  snakes. 

Gradually  he  became  more  and  more  emaci 
ciated,  till  at  last  he  could  scarcely  "crawl.  Aftei 
the  lapse  of  forty  days  he  reached  the  banks  of 
a  river.  There  reposing,  he  awaited  the  endur- 
ance of  his  last  hour,  unmitigated  by  human 
sympathy  or  human  help.  With  the  ebbing 
consciousness  of  reality  around,  more  busy  be- 
came the  dreams  of  fancy.  Borne  upon  its 
wings  were  reminiscences  strange  and  sweet. 
His  friends,  his  home,  his  youth,  hours  of  de- 
light and  days  long  past  crowded  upon  his 
thought — when  amidst  the  visions  of  returning 
joy,  the  sounds  of  oars  seemed  to  fall  on  the 
silent  river.  He  listened,  but  the  sounds  soon 
died  away  on  his  fainting  ears.  Was  it  the  de- 
lusion of  a  dying  hour?  Again  he  listened 
eagerly,  and  again  came  the  plash  of  oars.  It 
was  reality — a  saving  reality,  for  now  when  the 
light  of  life  was  about  to  he  quenched  for  ever 
ji  the  poor  wanderer,  the  quickening  fulness  of 


130  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

returning  hope,  a  sudden  joy  to  the  sinking 
spirit  renewed  its  vitality.  Human  voices  in 
exclamation  thrilled  the  sufferer's  heart,  as 
round  the  headland  covered  with  tangled  brush- 
wood the  little  boat,  pushed  by  its  hardy  rowers, 
boldly  advanced.  A  scream  of  joy  and  fear 
falls  upon  their  ears.  They  pause  and  look 
around.  Again  it  comes,  but  more  feebly  than 
before.  At  length  they  behold  the  wanderer, 
whose  strange  and  terrible  appearance  they  could 
scarcely  recognize  as  human. 

"With  tattered  garments,  hanging  like  rag? 
about  him,  his  face  obscured  by  neglected  beard, 
his  hair  matted,  and  his  emaciated  frame  covered 
only  by  shrivelled  skin,  like  a  skeleton  with 
parchment,  there  he  lay  with  fluttering  heart, 
gasping  breath  and  reeling  brain.  Yet  the  lost 
one  was  soon  regained,  and,  soon  restored  to  the 
loving  hearts  and  kindly  solicitude  of  home,  in 
renewed  health  and  happiness  often  in  after 
years  gratefully  told  the  tale  of  his  adventure, 
and  excited  the  sympathy  of  his  listeners  by  the 
painful  recital  of  his  sufferings. 

A  class  of  men  whose  calling,  no  less  than 
that  of  the  Live  Oakers,  exposes  them  to  strange 
incidents  and  often  to  peril,  are  the  Turtlers, 
who  frequent  the  various  islets  about  Florida 
The  Tortugas,  a  group  of  eighty  miles  from 
Key  West,  consisting  of  a   few   uninhabitable 


DESCRIPTION   OF   THE   TORTUGAS.  131 

banks  of  shelly  sands,  intersected  by  deep  intri 
cate  channels,  are  especially  resorted  to  by  them ; 
and  many  a  luckless  mariner  called  to  that  dan- 
gerous coast  has  met  his  end  from  careless  con- 
tact of  his  vessel  with  the  great  coral  reefs  adja- 
cent. To  these  islet  banks,  thickly  spread  with 
corals,  sea  gems,  and  the  fanciful  jewelry  of  the 
deep,  turtles  of  various  sizes  resort  to  deposit 
their  eggs  in  the  sand;  with  flocks,  arriving 
every  spring  of  the  sea-fowl.  Multitudes  of 
beautiful  fishes  fill  the  neighbouring  waters. 
Perhaps  no  more  interesting  scene  could  be  im- 
agined than  that  presented  by  these  famous 
islands  beneath  the  influence  of  their  gorgeous 
sunsets.  The  brilliant  orb  of  day  seems  there 
to  triple  its  dimensions  ;  partially  sunk  beneath 
the  waves,  glittering  through  their  transparence 
with  crimson  flush,  it  irradiates  their  iris  hues, 
while  in  its  encircling  splendour  the  whole 
heavens  are  transfigured  as  by  a  flood  of  golden 
light,  purpling  the  distant  clouds  which  hover 
over  the  horizon.  A  marvellous  blaze  of  splen- 
dour is  poured  over  the  west,  and  even  the  masses 
of  vapour  appear  like  mountains  of  molten  gold, 
till  gradually  their  brilliance  disappears  behind 
the  sable  veil  of  night. 

The  hawk,  hovering  on  noiseless  wing,  enjoys 
the  gentle  sea-breeze;  the  terns  settle  on  their 
nests,  and  the  pelicans  hasten  to  their  homea 


132  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

among  the  mangroves.  Skimming  the  surface 
of  the  waters,  glistening  in  the  moonlight^  the 
broad  forms  of  the  turtles  are  then  seen,  their 
anxiety  and  fear  told  by  their  hurried  breathing, 
heard  in  the  silence  as  they  toil  along.  On 
nearing  the  shore  the  turtle  raises  her  head, 
looks  round  and  carefully  examines  the  objects 
on  it.  Observing  anything  which  seems  to 
measure  her  proceedings,  she  utters  a  loud  hiss- 
ing sound  by  which  to  intimidate  her  enemies, 
then  instantly  sets  sail  and  wades  to  a  consider- 
able distance.  On  the  contrary,  should  she  find 
everything  quiet  and  propitious  she  crawls  on 
the  beach,  and  having  found  a  convenient  spot, 
again  gazes  cautiously  round.  With  the  utmost 
ingenuity  she  alternately  raises  and  scatters  the 
sand  till  a  hole  is  dug  to  the  depth  of  eighteen 
inches  or,  sometimes,  two  feet  After  depositing 
her  eggs  and  leaving  the  hatching  of  them  to  the 
heat  of  the  sun,  she  launches  once  more  into  the 
deep.  Those  who  search  for  the  eggs  are  pro- 
vided with  a  light  stiff  cane  or  ram-rod  with 
which  they  probe  the  sands  along  the  shore, 
endeavouring  to  keep  as  near  as  possible  tG  the 
tracks  of  the  animal,  which,  however,  it  is  not 
always  easy  to  ascertain,  often  obliterated  as 
they  are  by  winds  and  heavy  rains.  The  turtlers 
employ  various  methods  of  capture.  Sometimes 
nets  are  placed  across  the  entrance  of  streams, 


133 


formed  of  intricate  meshes,  into  which  the  pooT 
turtles  once  entrapped  are  only  the  more  en 
tangled  the  more  they  attempt  to  extricate  them- 
selves. Frequently  they  are  harpooned  in  the 
usua,  way. 

The  turtlers,  men  of  humble  birth,  must  ne 
cessarily  possess  energy  and  enterprise  for  their 
vocation.  These  qualities  not  unfrequently  raise 
to  higher  stations,  and  a  naval  officer  with  whom 
Audubon  met  had  formerly  been  a  turtler.  lie 
was  accustomed  to  relate  many  an  exciting  ad- 
venture which  gave  proof  of  the  perils  to  which 
those  who  engage  in  such  a  career  are  exposed 
Among  them  was  the  following : — 


f  fte  Startler's  Stflrg. 

In  the  calm  of  a  fine  moonlight  night  as  I 
was  admiring  the  beauty  of  the  heavens,  and  the 
broad  glare  of  light  that  flamed  from  the  trem- 
bling surface  of  the  water  around,  I  chanced  to 
be  paddling  along  a  sandy  shore  which  I  thought 
well  fitted  for  my  repose,  being  covered  with 
tall  grass,  and  as  the  sun  was  not  many  degrees 
above  the  horizon,  I  felt  anxious  to  pitch  my 
musquito  bar  or  net,  and  spend  the  night  in  the 
wilderness.  The  bellowing  notes  of  thousands 
12 


131  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

of  bull-frogs  id  a  neighbouring  swamp  might  lull 
me  to  rest,  and  I  looked  upon  the  flocks  of 
blackbirds  that  were  assembling  as  sure  com- 
panions in  this  secluded  retreat.  I  proceeded 
up  a  little  stream  to  insure  the  safety  of  my 
canoe  from  any  sudden  storm,  when  as  I  gladly 
advanced  a  beautiful  yawl  came  unexpectedly 
in  view.  Surprised  at  such  a  sight  in  a  part  of 
the  country  then  scarcely  known,  I  felt  a  sudden 
check  in  the  circulation  of  my  blood.  My  paddle 
dropped  from  my  hands,  and  fearfully  indeed, 
as  I  picked  it  up,  did  I  look  towards  the  un« 
known  boat.  On  reaching  it,  I  saw  its  sides 
marked  with  stains  of  blood,  and  looking  with 
anxiety  over  the  gunwale,  I  perceived  to  my 
horror  two  human  bodies  covered  with  gore. 
Pirates  or  hostile  Indians  I  was  persuaded  had 
perpetrated  the  foul  deed,  and  my  alarm  natur- 
ally increased ;  my  heart  fluttered,  stopped,  and 
heaved  with  unusual  tremors,  and  I  looked  to- 
wards the  setting  sun  in  consternation  and  despair. 
How  long  my  reveries  lasted  I  cannot  tell :  I 
can  only  recollect  that  I  was  roused  from  them 
by  the  distant  groans  of  one  apparently  in  mortal 
agony.  I  felt  as  if  refreshed  by  the  cold  per- 
spiration that  oozed  from  every  pore,  and  I  re- 
flected that  though  alone,  I  was  well  armed,  and 
might  hope  for  the  protection  of  the  Almighty  I 
Humanity  whispered  to  me  that,  if  not  surprised 


THE  TURTLER'S   STORY.  135 

and  disabled,  I  might  render  assistance  to  some 
sufferer,  or  even  be  the  means  of  saving  a  use- 
ful life.  Buoyed  up  by  this  thought,  I  urged 
my  canoe  on  shore,  and  seizing  it  by  the  bow 
pulled  it  at  one  spring  high  among  the  grass. 
The  groans  of  the  unfortunate  persons  fell  heavy 
on  my  ear,  as  I  cocked  and  reprimed  my  gun, 
determined  to  shoot  the  first  who  should  rise 
from  the  grass.  As  I  cautiously  proceeded  a 
hand  was  raised  over  the  reeds,  and  waved  in  a 
most  supplicatory  manner.  I  levelled  my  gun 
about  a  foot  below  it,  when  the  next  moment 
the  head  and  breast  of  a  man  were  convulsively 
raised,  and  a  faint  hoarse  voice  asked  of  me 
mercy  and  help !  A  deathlike  silence  followed 
his  fall  to  the  ground.  I  surveyed  every  object 
around,  with  eyes  intent  and  ears  impressible  by 
the  slightest  sound,  for  my  situation  at  that  mo- 
ment, I  thought  as  critical  as  any  I  had  ever 
been  in.  The  croaking  of  the  frogs  and  the  last 
blackbirds  alighting  on  their  roosts,  were  the 
only  sounds  or  sights.  I  now  proceeded  towards 
the  object  of  my  mingled  alarm  and  consterna- 
tion. Alas  1  the  poor  being  who  lay  prostrate 
at  my  feet  was  so  weakened  by  loss  of  blood 
that  I  had  nothing  to  fear  from  him. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  run  back  to  the  water, 
and  having  done  so,  I  returned  with  my  cap 
filled  to  the  brim.     I  felt  at  his  heart,  washed 


136 


AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 


his  face  and  breast,  and  rubbed  his  temples  with 
the  contents  of  a  phial  which  I  kept  about  mo 
as  an  antidote  for  the  bites  of  snakes.  His  fea- 
tures, seamed  by  the  ravages  of  time,  looked 
frightful  and  disgusting ;  but  he  had  been  a 
powerful  man,  as  his  broad  chest  plainly  showed. 
He  groaned  in  the  most  appalling  manner  as  his 
breath  struggled  through  the  mass  of  blood  that 
seemed  to  fill  his  throat.  His  dress  plainly  dis- 
closed his  occupation :  a  large  pistol  he  had 
thrust  in  his  bosom,  a  naked  cutlass  lay  near 
him  on  the  ground,  a  red  silk  handkerchief  was 
bound  over  his  projecting  brows,  and  over  a 
pair  of  loose  trousers  he  wore  fisherman's  boots. 
He  was,  in  short,  a  pirate.  My  exertions  were 
not  in  vain,  for  as  I  continued  to  bathe  his  temples 
he  revived,  his  pulse  regained  some  strength, 
and  I  began  to  hope  he  might  survive  the  deep 
wound  he  had  received.  Darkness,  deep  darkness 
now  enveloped  us.  I  spoke  of  making  a  fire. 
u  Ah  !  for  mercy's  sake,"  he  exclaimed  "don't." 
Knowing  that  under  existing  circumstances  it 
was  expedient  for  me  to  do  so,  I  left  him,  went 
to  his  boat,  and  brought  the  rudder,  the  benches, 
and  the  oars,  which,  with  my  hatchet,  I  soon 
splintered.  I  then  struck  a  light  and  presently 
stood  in  the  glare  of  a  blazing  fire.  The  pirate 
seemed  struggling  between  terror  and  gratitude 
for  my  assistance ;  he  desired  me  several  timea 


THE  TURTLER's  STORY.  137 

to  put  out  the  flames,  but  after  a  draught  of 
strong  spirits  became  more  composed.  I  tried  to 
staunch  the  blood  that  flowed  from  the  deep  gashes 
in  his  shoulders  and  side.  I  expressed  my  re 
gret  that  I  had  no  food  about  me,  but  when  1 
spoke  of  eating  he  sullenly  moved  his  head. 

My  situation  was  one  of  the  most  extraordi- 
nary I  had  ever  been  placed  in.  I  naturally 
turned  my  talk  towards  religious  subjects,  but, 
alas,  the  dying  man  hardly  believed  in  the  exist- 
ence of  a  God.  "  Friend,"  said  he,  "  for  friend 
you  seem  to  be ;  I  never  studied  the  ways  of 
Him  of  whom  you  talk.  I  am  an  outlaw,  per 
haps  you  will  say  a  wretch, — I  have  been  foi 
many  years  a  pirate.  The  instructions  of  my 
parents  were  of  no  avail  to  me,  for  I  always  be 
lieved  I  was  born  to  be  a  most  cruel  man.  ] 
now  lie  here  about  to  die  midst  these  woods,  be- 
cause, long  ago,  I  refused  to  listen  to  their  many 
admonitions.  Do  not  shudder  when  I  tell  you 
these  now  useless  hands  murdered  the  mother 
whom  they  had  embraced.  I  feel  I  have  de- 
served the  pangs  of  the  wretched  death  that 
novers  over  me,  and  I  am  thankful  that  only 
one  of  my  kind  will  witness  my  last  gaspings." 

A  feeble  hope  that  I  might  save  his  life,  and 

perhaps  assist  in  procuring  his  pardon,  induced 

me  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject.     "It  is  all 

in  vain,  friend — I  have  no  objection  to  die — I 

12* 


13S 


AUDUBOX   THE   NATURALIST. 


am  glad  that  the  villains  who  wounded  me  were 
not  my  conquerors.  I  want  no  pardon  from 
any  one — give  me  some  water,  and  let  me  die 
alone." 

With  the  hope  that  I  might  learn  from  his 
conversation  something  that  might  lead  to  the 
capture  of  his  guilty  associates  ;  I  returned  from 
the  creek  with  another  capful  of  water,  nearly 
the  whole  of  which  I  managed  to  introduce  into 
his  parched  mouth,  and  begged  him,  for  the  sake 
of  his  future  peace,  to  disclose  his  history  to  me. 
"  It  is  impossible,"  said  he,  "  there  will  be  no 
time,  the  beatings  of  my  heart  tell  me  so.  Long 
before  day  these  sinewy  limbs  will  be  motion- 
less. Nay,  there  will  hardly  be  a  drop  of  blood 
in  my  body.  My  wounds  are  mortal,  and  I  must 
and  will  die  without  what  you  call  confession." 

The  moon  rose  in  the  east.  The  majesty  of 
her  placid  beauty  impressed  me  with  reverence. 
I  pointed  towards  her,  and  asked  the  pirate  if 
he  could  not  recognize  the  hand  of  God  there. 

"  Friend,  I  see  what  you  are  driving  at,"  was 
his  answer,  "  you,  like  the  rest  of  our  enemies, 
feel  the  desire  of  murdering  us  all.  Well — be 
it  so — to  die  is,  after  all,  nothing  more  than  a 
jest,  and  were  it  not  for  the  pain,  no  one,  in  my 
opinion,  need  care  a  jot  about  it.  But  as  you 
have  really  befriended  me  I  will  tell  you  all  that 
is  proper." 


THE  TURTLER'S  STORY.  139 

Hoping  his  mind  might  take  a  useful  turn,  I 
again  bathed  his  temples,  and  washed  his  lips 
with  spirits.  His  sunken  eyes  seemed  to  dart 
ore  at  mine — a  heavy  and  deep  sigh  swelled  his 
chest  and  struggled  through  his  blood-choked 
throat,  as  he  asked  me  to  raise  him  a  little.  1 
did  so,  when  he  addressed  me  as  follows  : — 

"  First  tell  me  how  many  bodies  you  found 
in  the  boat,  and  what  sort  of  dresses  they  had 
on."  I  mentioned  their  number  and  described 
their  apparel.  "  That's  right,"  said  he,  they  are 
the  bodies  of  the  scoundrels  who  followed  me 
in  that  infernal  Yankee  barge.  Bold  rascals 
they  were.  For  when  they  found  the  water  too 
shallow  for  their  craft,  they  took  to  it  and  waded 
after  me.  All  my  companions  had  been  shot, 
and  to  lighten  my  own  boat  I  flung  them  over- 
board, but  as  I  lost  time  in  this,  the  two  ruffians 
caught  hold  of  my  gunwale,  and  struck  on  my 
head  and  body  in  such  a  way  that  I  was  scarcely 
able  to  move.  The  other  villain  carried  off  our 
schooner  and  one  of  our  boats,  and  perhaps  ere 
now  have  hung  all  my  companions  whom  they 
did  not  kill  at  the  time.  I  always  hated  the  Yan 
kees,  and  only  regret  that  I  did  not  kill  more  of 
them.  I  sailed  from  Matanzas — I  have  often 
been  in  concert  with  others.  I  have  money 
without  counting,  but  it  is  buried  where  it  will 
never  be  found,  and  it  would  be  useless  to  tell 


140  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

you  of  it."  His  throat  filled  with  blood,  Lis 
voice  failed,  the  cold  hand  of  death  was  on  his 
brow,  feebly  and  hurriedly  he  muttered,  "  I  am 
a  dying  man,  farewell !" 

Alas  I  it  is  painful  to  me,  death  in  any 
shape ;  in  this  it  was  horrible,  for  there  was  no 
hope.  The  rattling  of  his  throat  announced  the 
moment  of  his  dissolution,  and  already  did  the 
body  fall  on  my  arms  with  a  weight  which  was 
insupportable.  I  laid  him  on  the  ground.  A 
mass  of  dark  blood  poured  from  his  mouth,  then 
came  a  frightful  groan,  the  last  breathing  of  that 
foul  spirit,  and  all  that  now  lay  at  my  feet,  in 
that  wild  desert,  was  a  mangled  mass  of  clay ! 

The  remainder  of  that  night  was  passed  in  no 
enviable  mood,  but  my  feelings  cannot  be  de- 
scribed. At  dawn  I  dug  a  hole  with  the  paddle 
of  my  canoe,  rolled  the  body  into  it,  and  covered 
it.  On  reaching  the  boat,  I  found  several  buz- 
zards feeding  on  the  bodies,  which  I  in  vain 
attempted  to  drag  to  the  shore.  I  therefore 
covered  them  with  mud  and  reeds,  and  launch- 
ing my  canoe,  paddled  from  the  cove,  with  a 
secret  joy  at  my  escape,  shadowed  with  the 
gloom  of  a  mingled  dread  and  abhorrence 


RETURN  FROM  FLORIDA.        141 


CHAPTER    XI 

RETURNING  from  Florida,  enriched  by  nu- 
merous and  important  discoveries,  Audubon 
proceeded  to  Philadelphia.  There  he  had  the 
happiness  to  be  reunited  to  his  family.  Anxiety 
for  their  welfare  induced  him  to  shorten  his  stay 
in  that  city,  then  afflicted  by  the  terrible  pesti- 
lence of  cholera.  They  continued  their  journey 
to  Boston.  During  his  sojourning  there,  1832, 
he  was  engaged  in  making  the  drawings  requisite 
to  the  completion  of  his  "Illustrations" — his  son 
leaving  the  family  gathering  to  superintend  their 
publication  in  London.  At  the  noble  city  of 
Boston  Audubon  lingered  to  indulge  his  admi- 
ration of  it,  as  well  as  to  enjoy  the  pleasure 
afforded  him  by  the  warm  and  generous  recep- 
tion he  met  with  from  its  inhabitants.  "The 
outpouring  of  kindness  at  Boston,"  he  tells  us, 
"  exceeding  all  with  which  he  had  ever  met." 
This  so  justly  admired  capital  was  naturally  a 
Bource  of  honourable  pride  to  him.  With  the 
utmost  enthusiasm  he  speaks  of  the  laudable 
characteristics  of  this  people,  the  fitting  citizens 


142 


AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 


of  a  free  land ;  of  its  churches,  its  universities, 
its  harbours,  the  beauty  of  the  adjacent  country 
Drightened  by  glimpses  of  neat  and  elegant  habit- 
ations—and dwells  with  loving  complacency  on 
the  numerous  places  distinguished  by  association 
with  the  glorious  chronicle  of  his  far-famed  his- 
tory. 

Audubon's  next  excursion  was  to  explore  the 
British  Provinces  of  New  Brunswick.  Proceed- 
ing to  Frederickton  along  St.  John's  River,  he 
was  delighted  with  the  aspect  of  its  shores, 
bounded  by  verdurous  hills,  here  and  there  pic- 
turesquely interspersed  with  sharp  rocky  banks. 
They  were  adorned,  moreover,  with  the  "yellow 
fruitfulness  "  of  autumn,  waving  luxuriant  fields 
of  corn,  glowing  fruits  which  hung  clustering  in 
the  orchards,  and  lustrous  tints  gilding  the  forest 
of  carmine  and  gold. 

On  the  broad  unruffled  waters  the  canoes  of 
the  Indian  swiftly  glided,  scaring  the  timid 
water-fowl.  The  sprightly  Canada  jay  sprung 
from  branch  to  branch ;  the  kingfisher  took  to 
flight,  while  the  fish-hawk  and  eagle  spread  their 
broad  wings  over  the  waves. 

Returning  eastward,  Audubon  passed  the 
winter  at  Boston,  again  occupied  in  making 
drawings  of  the  birds  that  migrate  thither  from 
the  colder  regions  of  the  north,  and  in  May, 
1833,  set  sail  for  Labrador.     Approaching  its 


THE  BIRDS  OF   LABRADOR.  143 

coast  appeared  what  seemed  to  be  hundreds  of 
snow-white  sails  sporting  over  the  waters,  but 
which  proved  to  be  masses  of  drifted  snow  and 
ice  filling  every  nook  and  cove  of  the  rugged 
shores. 

The  coast  of  Labrador,  like  that  of  the  Flori- 
das,  is  dotted  with  numerous  islands,  the  resorts 
of  winged  creatures.  Some  hover  along  the 
huge  rooks  which  there  project  like  a  giant  bul- 
wark over  the  sea,  others  flap  their  sable  wings 
over  its  surface  ;  the  raven  spreads  her  pinions, 
and  the  golden  eagle  soars  majestically  aloft, 
moving  in  wide  circles  through  the  air. 

Before  his  visit  to  Labrador,  Audubon  had 
met  with  but  a  single  one  of  the  species  of  the 
Esquimaux  curlew.  Coming  from  the  north, 
these  birds  arrive  in  flocks  as  dense  as  the  pas- 
senger pigeons,  directing  their  course  to  the 
sterile  mountainous  tracts.  They  feed  in  Labra- 
dor on  the  curlew  berry,  a  small  black  fruit, 
found  on  a  creeping  plant,  abundantly  covering 
the  rocks.  While  in  search  of  food  they  fly  in 
close  masses,  sometimes  high,  sometimes  low, 
but  always  with  remarkable  swiftness,  and  with 
the  most  elegant  evolutions.  When  on  wing 
they  perpetually  repeat  a  soft  whistling  note, 
but  immediately  on  alighting  become  silent, 
They  may  be  seen  running  all  in  the  same  direc- 
tion picking  up  the  berries  in  their  wiy,  when, 


IU 


AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 


at  the  slightest  intimation  of  danger,  at  a  single 
whistle  from  any  one  of  the  flock,  they  all  in- 
stantly fly  off,  rising  from  the  ground  by  one 
quick  spring,  undulating  backwards  and  for- 
wards, and  round,  in  the  most  •  curious  manner, 
now  and  then  pausing  in  the  air,  like  the  hawk, 
for  a  few  minutes  against  the  wind,  as  though 
for  the  pleasantness  of  meeting  the  breeze. 

Beautiful  as  are  the  various  species  of  terns, 
the  roseate  probably  surpasses  them  all,  with 
its  glossy  head  of  raven  blackness  and  the  deli- 
cate loveliness  of  its  rosy  tinted  breast.  So  light 
and  graceful  are  the  movements  of  these  birds, 
too,  as  in  gatherings  of  hundreds  they  dance 
through  the  air,  that  they  may  with  justice  be 
called  the  humming-birds  of  the  sea.  Now  flock- 
ing together,  they  disperse  again,  and  hover 
round,  or,  if  in  anger,  plunge  with  a  sudden 
dash,  uttering  cries  of  wrath. 

Traversing  the  solitudes  of  Labrador,  the  un- 
broken silence  which  reigns  around  seems  like  the 
mournfulness  of  a  deserted  land,  and,  combined 
with  the  melancholy  grandeur  of  the  scenery,  is 
peculiarly  impressive.  Stupendous  masses  of 
rock,  hundreds  of  feet  in  height,  look  down 
frowningly,  their  curious  carvings  appearing 
like  devices  wrought  by  superhuman  hands. 

The  few  dwarf  pines  and  the  stunted  vegeta- 
tion add  to  the  singular  aspect  of  the  landscape, 


A  SUPPLIANT.  145 

which  seems  as  though  stricken  into  barrenness 
by  some  enchantment.  The  gull  and  grim  raven 
brood  among  the  cliffs.  Yet  has  the  power  of 
enterprise  peopled  even  these  wilds. 

Audubon,  while  lying  at  anchor,  directed  his 
attention  one  day  to   the  pinnacle  of  a  small 
island,  separated  only  by  a  narrow  channel  from 
the  main  land,  and  beheld  a  man  with  clasped 
hands,  bended  knees  and  heavenward  gaze,  be- 
fore a  mount  of  rough   stones,   supporting  a 
wooden  cross.     This  attitude  was  unmistakably 
that  of  prayer,  and  at  once  arrested  Audubon's 
attention,    awakening    that  reverential    regard 
which  cannot  fail  to  impress  the  soul  in  the 
presence  of  another,  seeking  communion  with 
its  Creator.     In  the  desolation  of  these  northern 
lands,  moreover,  it  appeared  peculiarly  affect- 
ing, where  human  creatures  far  removed  from 
the  assistance  of  their  fellow-creatures,  in  simple 
confidence  sought  it  in   the   more   immediate 
agency  of  an  Almighty  hand.     Audubon  felt 
his  curiosity  and  interest  awakened.     Landing 
upon  the  rock,  he  scrambled  to  the  spot  where 
he  had  observed  the  man  upon  his  knees,  who 
Btill,  on  Audubon's  approach,  continued  his  devo- 
tions.    On  their  conclusion  Audubon  inquired 
his  reasons  for  choosing  so  dreary  a  sanctuary. 
"  Because,"  answered  he,  "  the  sea  lies  before 


13 


U6 


AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 


me,  and  from  it  I  receive  my  spring  and  summer 
sustenance." 

Struck  with  the  reply,  Audubon  desired  a 
further  acquaintance  with  his  new  companion, 
and  accordingly  accepted  the  invitation  to  his 
abode.  Low  and  small  it  was,  formed  of  stones, 
plastered  with  mud.  The  roof  was  composed 
of  a  sort  of  thatching  of  weeds  and  moss.  A 
large  Dutch  stove  filled  nearly  one  half  of  the 
place — a  small  port-hole  served  as  a  window. 
The  bed  was  a  pile  of  deer  skins.  A  bowl,  a 
jug,  and  an  iron  pot  placed  on  a  rude  shelf,  three 
old  and  rusty  muskets,  their  locks  fastened  by 
thongs,  stood  in  a  corner ;  and  buck-shot,  powder, 
and  flints  were  tied  up  in  skins.  Eight  Exqui 
maux  dogs  leaped  about  this  uninviting  abode. 

With  the  courtesy  of  his  nation  (for  the  rustic 
of  these  wilds  was  a  Frenchman)  he  invited  his 
guest  to  refreshment,  and  Audubon,  during  the 
preparation  of  his  repast,  wandered  out  of  doors 
to  enjoy  the  glorious  landscape  afforded  by  the 
majestic  scenery  around,  ornamented  by  a  mar- 
vellous luxuriance  in  plants  and  grasses,  which 
clothed  the  valley  where  the  settler  dwelt  con- 
tentedly in  his  chosen  home.  There,  through- 
out ten  returning  dreary  winters,  he  had  resided, 
subsisting  on  the  annual  sale  of  furs,  eiderdowns, 
and  seal-skins,  to  the  traders  who  sought  theil 
merchandise  in  these  inclement  regions. 


CONTENTMENT.  147 

"  With  the  exception  of  the  loss  c  f  a  barrel 
of  rum,"  said  Pierre,  "  he  had  never  experienced 
a  single  sorrow,  and  felt  as  happy  as  a  lord  I* 
To  Audubon's  inquiry  how  he  managed  to  feed 
the  dogs,  he  replied,  "  Why,  sir,  during  spring 
and  summer  they  ramble  along  the  shores,  where 
they  meet  with  abundance  of  dead  fish,  and  in 
winter  they  eat  the  flesh  of  seals  which  I  kill 
late  in  the  autumn,  when  those  animals  return 
from  the  north.  As  to  myself,  everything  eat- 
able is  good,  and  when  hard  pushed,  I  assure 
you  I  can  relish  the  fare  of  my  dogs  just  as 
they  do  themselves."  To  this  simple  standard 
of  satisfaction,  the  poor  settler  was  reduced  from 
the  lofty  expectations  which  had  led  him,  with 
a  greater  credulity  than  that  of  Whittington,  to 
leave  his  native  land,  in  the  conviction  of  be- 
coming a  millionaire  in  the  north  !  Yet  he  was 
happy,  and  the  realization  of  his  best  wishes 
could  have  brought  him  no  more  enviable  des- 
tiny. 

Proceeding  along  the  indentations  of  the  bay, 
Audubon  perceived  several  neat-looking  habita- 
tions which  gladdened  the  prospect,  proving  that 
a  similarity  of  taste  or  intention  had  induced 
many  besides  the  settler  to  seek  the  seclusion  of 
these  inhospitable  shores. 

The  next  adventurer,  however,  proved  an 
entire  contrast  to  Pierre.      His  demeanour  in- 


U8 


AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 


etantly  bespoke  the  gentleman  and  polishes 
citizen  of  the  world.  He  immediately  recognized 
the  name  of  Audubon,  and  declared  that  he  had 
been  expocting  to  greet  him  during  the  last 
three  weeKS,  having  read  in  the  journals  of  his 
intention  to  visit  Labrador.  He  then  cordially 
welcomed  him  to  his  elegant  mansion,  and  its 
pleasant  inmates.  A  chosen  collection  of  books, 
with  newspapers  from  all  quarters,  evinced  that 
no  contracting  influences  of  seclusion  had  chilled 
their  sympathies  or  deadened  their  interest  in 
that  society  from  which  they  were  removed. 
"  How  had  they  thus  hidden  themselves  from 
the  world,  with  every  incentive  to  mingle  pleas- 
antly and  profitably  in  it  ?"  inquired  Audubon. 
"  Having  mixed  once  in  society,"  replied  his 
companion,  "he  never  wished  to  return  to  it. 
The  country  around,"  he  continued,  "  is  all  my 
own,  much  farther  than  you  can  see.  No  fees, 
no  lawyers,  no  taxes  are  here.  I  do  just  as  I 
choose.  My  means  are  ample  through  my  own 
industry.  Vessels  come  here  for  seal  skins,  seal 
oil,  and  salmon,  and  give  me  in  return  all  the 
necessaries,  and,  indeed,  comforts  of  the  life  I 
love  to  follow.  And  what  else  could  the  world 
afford?  My  wife  and  I  teach  the  children  all 
that  is  necessary  for  them  to  know,  and  is  not 
that  enough  ?  My  girls  will  marry  their  country- 
men, my  sons  the  daughters  of  my  neighbours, 


EGGERS   OF  LABRADOR.  1-4V 

and  I  hope  all  of  them  will  live  and  die  in  this 
country," 

In  such  unambitious  happiness,  ignorant  alike 
of  the  aspirations  and  evils  of  so-called  civiliza- 
tion, dwell  the  settlers  of  Labrador ! 

Frequenting  the  coast  of  this  interesting  coun- 
try are  a  class  of  men,  who,  the  scourge  of  the 
feathered  species,  were  regarded  by  Audubon  as 
the  scandal  of  their  own.  These  buccaneers, 
whose  vocation  it  is  to  despoil  the  nest  of  every 
wild  bird,  in  order  to  dispose  of  its  produce,  are 
known  as  Eggers. 

Their  cruel  occupation  is  rendered  still  more 
vicious,  from  the  propensity  they  exhibit  to  de- 
stroy the  poor  creatures  whom  they  have  robbed, 
adding  the  crime  of  inhumanity  to  that  of  injus- 
tice. In  their  unwashed  shallops,  plastered  and 
patched  often  with  the  remnants  of  some  luckless 
vessel  plundered  by  these  pirates,  they  skulk  be- 
hind the  frowning  rocks,  a  refuge  for  myriads 
of  winged  creatures,  who  there  seek  unmolested 
repose.  Like  evil  phantoms  of  the  waters,  the 
boats  are  stealthily  pushed  along,  manned  by 
their  reckless  crews,  intent  on  evil. 

On  their  approach  towards  some  island  for 
their  prey,  clouds  of  birds  rising,  thicken  the 
5iir,  wheeling  and  screaming  around,  as  though 
in  defiance  of  their  dreaded  enemies.  Some  in 
'he  vain  hope  of  saving  their  cherished  young 
13* 


150 


AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 


remain  still.  But  instantly  the  reports  of  mu» 
kets  loaded  with  heavy  shot  are  heard,  and  the 
dead  and  wounded  fall  in  numbers  to  the  earth. 
Collecting  their  prey,  they  then  return  to  their 
vessels,  to  celebrate  with  drunken  orgies  their 
brutal  triumph.  Stripping  off  their  beautiful 
feathered  apparel,  while  the  flesh  of  their  vic- 
tims is  yet  warm,  they  throw  them  on  the  coals. 
Then  filling  repeatedly  their  rum  flasks,  with 
shouting  and  revelry  the  night  is  far  spent,  till 
at  length  tumbling  and  snoring,  the  crazy  crew 
fall  into  uneasy  slumbers.  With  the  return  of 
morning  they  are  again  on  the  alert,  when  the 
sun  shines  brightly  on  the  snow-clad  mountains, 
and  fresh  breezes  shake  the  heavy  dew-drops 
from  the  boughs. 

Startled  by  the  pure  eye  of  day  upon  them, 
the  Eggers  arise,  and  make  for  some  other  spot 
sheltered  as  before,  where,  undisturbed,  they 
may  betake  themselves  again  to  their  ferocious 
employment.  Thus  passing  their  days  in  cruelty, 
and  their  nights  in  revelry,  the  marauders  spend 
weeks  in  these  occupations.  Touching  in  suc- 
cession at  every  island  along  the  coast,  propi- 
tious to  their  guilty  purposes,  ample  gatherings 
are  made  by  them  to  satisfy  their  sordid  minds. 
Sometimes,  enraged  at  competition  in  their  de- 
graded traffic  by  a  band  of  desperadoes  like 
themselves,  a  challenge  is  given,  musketry  is  dig 


EGGERS  OF  LABRADOR.  15i 

charged,  and  careless  of  the  lives  of  their  fellow 
creatures,  as  they  are  of  those  of  the  helpless  in- 
habitants of  the  air,  they  fight  like  wild  beasts 
for  a  contested  prey.  Not  till  fractured  skulls 
and  wounded  limbs  give  evidence  of  the  fray,  is 
it  brought  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion,  when 
fraternising,  they  divide  the  booty. 

Not  only  against  their  rivals  do  the  ruffians 
wage  war,  but  against  mariners,  who  in  the 
dauntlessness  of  innocence  boldly  traverse  the 
waters.  Often  they  are  surprised  and  robbed 
by  these  lawless  crews,  who  infest  the  coast 
whenever  a  covert  may  be  found.  Yet  not  un- 
frequently  they  meet  with  a  merited  punishment 
In  a  company  of  a  hundred,  perhaps,  the  fisher- 
men gallantly  advance  their  boats.  Disdaining 
to  carry  other  weapons,  they  use  the  sufficient- 
ones  of  their  fists  and  oars.  They  prepare  boldly 
to  ascend  the  rock,  where  they  are  awaited  by 
the  enemy — a  dozen  Eggers  armed  with  guns 
and  bludgeons.  Loud  cheers  re-echo  through 
the  air,  a  fierce  contest  ensues,  but  the  van- 
quished Eggers  are  generally  left  bruised  upon 
the  ground. 

So  unremitting  are  these  pirates  in  their  de- 
predations, as  to  threaten  the  entire  extinction 
of  various  species  of  birds,  once  abundant  in 
resorts  which  they  abandon  in  search  of  un- 
molested retreats.     Gulls,  guillerots,  and  puffins 


152  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

are  especally  massacred  in  vast  numbers  on 
account  of  their  feathers.  Eventually,  however, 
this  unrelenting  persecution  will  be  the  means 
of  its  own  extinction,  when  the  multitude  of 
birds,  once  a  prey  to  these  pirates,  no  longer 
exist  to  attract  them  to  their  haunts. 

Eeturning  from  Labrador,  Audubon,  as  he 
sailed  along  the  northern  coast  of  Newfound- 
land, while  others  beguiled  themselves  with  va- 
rious amusements,  enjoyed  a  satisfaction  which 
was  for  him  unequalled — that  of  beholding  the 
grandeur  of  creation  displayed  in  the  majestic 
scenery  of  those  shores,  softened  by  a  fertility 
unknown  in  Labrador.  Here,  though  along  the 
foot  of  huge  projections  of  rock,  which,  like 
fragments  of  mountains  overhang  the  sea,  the 
waters  dash  with  terrific  force ;  more  distant  val- 
leys clad  with  verdure,  intermingling  with  which 
are  gently  swelling  hills,  prove  the  luxuriance  of 
vegetable  growth. 

Numerous  habitations  add  to  the  cheerfulness 
of  the  aspect,  while  the  boats,  with  their  white 
sails  expanded  to  the  breeze,  flutter  like  silvery 
sea-birds  about  the  inlets  which  every  now  and 
then  appear.  Clouds  of  curlews  dash  through 
the  air  as  they  wing  their  way  to  the  south. 
Nearer,  the  pleasant  sight  of  cattle  feeding  in 
cultured  meadows,  and  people  busy  at  theii 
avocations  continue  to  gladden  the  view. 


A   SERENADE.  153 

As  Audubon  and  his  companions  landed,  an 
unusual  excitement  seemed  to  prevail,  which, 
with  reason,  they  attributed  to  the  curiosity 
raised  among  the  good  people  by  their  arrival, 
as  with  arrows  and  hunting  accoutrements,  in 
guise  half  Indian,  half  civilized,  they  made  their 
appearance.  In  return  for  the  interest  they  ex- 
cited, they  met,  however,  with  kind  greetings  and 
abundance  of  good  cheer.  Grateful  for  the  wel- 
come, on  betaking  themselves  at  nightfall  again 
to  their  floating  habitations,  they  serenaded 
with  repeated  glees  and  madrigals  the  amiable 
inhabitants  of  the  village ;  who  on  the  following 
day  sent  a  deputation  to  request  that  the  whole 
party  would  favour  with  their  company  a  ball, 
which  was  to  take  place  in  the  evening ;  desiring, 
also,  that  in  order  to  give  additional  zest  to  the 
festivities,  they  would  bring  their  musical  instru- 
ments. At  the  fashionable  hour  of  ten  o'clock, 
accordingly,  the  party — some  carrying  flutes, 
others  violins,  and  Audubon  a  flageolet  stuck  in 
his  pocket — were  lighted  to  the  dancing  hall — 
(the  ground  floor  of  a  fisherman's  house)  by 
paper  lanterns. 

The  hostess,  completely  at  her  ease  and  en 
neglige,  like  the  apartment,  curtseyed  with  the 
agility  if  not  with  the  elegance  of  a  Cerito,  and 
full  of  activity,  as  well  as  intent  on  cordiality,  pro- 
ceeded in  the  presence  of  her  visitors  to  arrange 


154  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

matters  for  their  comfort.  Perambulating  the 
apartment,  she  held  in  one  hand  a  bunch  of 
candles,  in  the  other  a  lighted  torch,  distributing 
the  candles  along  the  wall,  and  by  the  applica- 
tion of  the  torch  producing  a  blaze  of  illumina- 
tion.  She  then  proceeded  to  empty  the  con- 
tents of  a  tin  vessel  into  a  number  of  glasses, 
placed  on  the  only  table  in  the  room. 

The  chimney,  black  and  capacious,  was  orna- 
mented around  and  above  with  coffee-pots,  milk- 
bowls,  cups  and  saucers,  and  all  the  et  cetera 
necessary  for  the  festival. 

Some  primitive  wooden  benches  were  placed 
around  the  apartment  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  belles  of  the  village. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  Arctic  beauties  ap- 
peared, flourishing  in  the  rosy  exuberance  which 
proved  the  beneficial  influence  of  a  northern 
climate.  Their  decorations  might  have  vied 
with  the  Queen  of  Otaheite  herself,  in  possession 
of  brilliant  beads,  feathers,  gaudy  flowers,  and 
flowing  ribbons,  which  mingled  with  their  ebony 
tresses,  and  ornamented  their  finely-developed 
forms.  Soon  arrived  their  partners,  who.  ie- 
turning  from  fishing,  skipped  up,  without  cere- 
mony, a  kind  of  partially  screened  loft  adjoin- 
ing the  room  of  assembly,  to  exchange  their 
drenched  garments  for  apparel  more  suited  to 
the  elegant  usages  of  the  dance. 


VISIT  TO   PICTOU.  155 

At  each  pause  of  the  musicians,  refreshments 
were  handed  round,  not  the  slightest  surprise 
being  manifested  at  the  evident  alacrity  with 
which  glasses  of  pure  rum  were  swallowed  by 
the  robust  ladies  of  that  inclement  clime. 

To  the  surprise  of  Audubon,  who  naturally 
supposed  them  to  be  entirely  free  from  mauvaue 
honte,  some  of  them  whom  he  and  his  compan- 
ions afterwards  met  in  their  rambles,  fled  from 
them  like  "  gazelles  before  jackalls."  One  bear- 
ing a  pitcher  of  water,  dropped  it,  and  ran  to 
the  woods. 

Another  in  search  of  a  cow,  took  to  the  water, 
and  waded  through  it  more  than  waist  deep,  and 
then  made  for  home  with  the  speed  of  a  fright- 
eaed  hare.  So  marvellous  is  the  transformation 
elfected  by  the  genial  influence  of  that  extraor- 
dinary occurrence — a  ball  in  that  portion  of 
Newfoundland. 

After  a  few  days  of  delightful  wanderings 
over  the  mossy  hills,  and  many  a  pleasant  row 
up  the  indentures  of  the  beautiful  bay  of  St. 
George,  he  bade  adieu  to  the  rude,  but  most 
hospitable  English  and  French  of  that  isolated 
port,  and  a  few  days  of  easy  sailing  saw  the 
Ripley  at  anchor  a  few  miles  from  Pictou,  and 
a  boat,  containing  all  the  party  but  the  captain 
and  crew  of  the  schooner,  was  pulled  cherrily 
on  to  the  beach,  where  Audubon,  followed  by 


156  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

the  youths  of  the  expedition,  having  hired  a 
cart  from  the  nearest  farmer,  to  bring  their  bag 
gage,  walked,  with  his  long  strides,  some  twelvo 
miles  into  town,  there  to  be  taken  by  the  hand, 
and  receive  the  friendship  of  Professor  McCul- 
loch  and  his  sons. 

The  whole  collection  of  these  gentlemen  waa 
placed  at  his  disposal,  and  one  or  two  exceed- 
ingly rare  species  he  accepted,  though  what  he 
most  prized,  were  notes  of  the  observations  of 
birds,  made  by  Thomas  McCulloch.  But  Octo- 
ber was  at  hand,  and  he  traversed  rapidly  the 
road  towards  Windsor,  and  on  a  substantial,  but 
slow  British  steamer,  he  proceeded  down  the 
Bay  of  Fundy  (on  its  extraordinary  ebb  of  80 
feet  in  height  at  Windsor)  to  St.  Johns,  New 
Brunswick,  where  he  was  received  with  cheer- 
ful welcome  by  Edward  Harris,  Esq.,  his  old 
and  good  friend,  who  had  come  from  Phila- 
delphia to  await  his  return  to  Eastport,  Maine. 
Many  were  the  kindly  greetings  he  received,  as 
once  again  he  travelled  to  New  York,  there  to 
fneet  his  wife,  and,  with  her,  to  loiter  slowly  on 
through  the  inland  route,  to  Charleston,  to  fulfil 
a  promise  to  his  friend,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Backman — 
that  he  would  again  visit  him  before  a  return  to 
Europe.  This  winter  was  to  him  alternate  hard 
work,  and  the  relaxation  of  the  gun  and  chase, 
eDJoyed  with  "  Friend  Backman,"  at  the  homes 


DR.   BACKMAN.  157 

of  the  hospitable,  warm-hearted,  South  Carol  i 
nians ;  so  happy  were  those  days,  that  Dr.  Back 
man  was  want  to  sigh,  and  say :  "  Ah,  old  man, 
this  is  too  much  happiness  for  this  world — it 
makes  us  forget  ourselves."  But  he  rested  not ; 
and  we  find  him  once  again  in  London,  where 
he,  with  his  eldest  son,  assorted  the  drawings, 
made  during  two  years  absence,  into  numbers ; 
and,  making  his  final  arrangements  as  to  what 
birds  were  still  wanted  from  the  works  of  pre- 
vious authors,  he  returned  to  Edinburgh,  hia 
favourite  resort  in  Great  Britain,  where  he  pub- 
lished the  third  volume  of  the  Ornithological 
Biograplries, 
14 


158  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

WITH  untiring  zeal  Audubon  continued  to 
work  out  his  great  plan — a  source  to  him 
of  perpetual  anxiety  in  alternating  hopes  and 
fears.  The  unfaltering  enterprise  and  powers 
of  endurance,  both  mental  and  physical,  required 
in  the  ceaseless  labours  necessary  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  task,  alone  constituted  an  ordeal 
that  few  could  sustain.  Often  days,  and  even 
weeks,  were  passed  without  the  slightest  results 
to  his  researches.  Hundreds  of  miles  were  trav- 
ersed, woods  and  shores  ransacked  in  arduous 
toil,  and  not  a  single  discovery  made  !  Hunger, 
weariness,  disappointment,  would  necessarily 
press  upon  the  wanderer  suffering  deprivation 
in  solitude,  where  unprotected  he  was  exposed  to 
the  inclemency  of  the  atmosphere,  and  the  ruth- 
lessness  of  the  elements.  At  such  times,  when 
prostrated  with  fatigue,  and  wearied  with  the 
delayed  fulfilment  of  his  hopes,  imagination 
too  would  scare  him  with  her  cruel  phantoms. 
Sometimes,  betaking  himself  to  repose  in  the 
dreary  recesses  of  the  forest,  he  would  be  stricken 


THOUGHTS   IN  SOLITUDE.  159 

by  the  dread  of  illness,  which  should  quell  for 
ever  his  aspirations,  and  destroy  all  hope  of 
further  achievement  The  fancied  yell  of  the 
Indians  and  their  murderous  threats  would  tor 
tare  him,  or  visions  of  loathsome  snakes  en  twin 
ing  him  with  fatal  embrace,  while  vultures  im- 
patiently eyed  the  scene,  or  dreams  would  re- 
enact  the  sorrowful  realities  of  the  past.  For 
actual  poverty  had  more  than  once  compelled 
him  to  entertain  the  idea  of  throwing  away 
his  pencils,  destroying  his  drawings,  and  be- 
taking himself  at  once  to  some  more  immediately 
lucrative  engagement. 

Added  to  these  physical  trials,  were  those  of 
a  moral  influence — the  objections,  the  incredu- 
lity, the  persuasions  or  the  censures  of  others. 
These,  though  unable  to  deter  him  from  his  de- 
signs— ever  warmly  cherished — had  yet  the  ill 
result  of  increasing  the  actual  difficulties  of  the 
case.  The  effect  of  their  perpetual  representa- 
tion, moreover,  was  naturally  to  depress  and  an- 
noy. 

"  At  one  period,"  says  Audubon,  "  not  a  single 
individual  seemed  to  have  the  least  hope  of  my 
success."  On  delivering  his  first  drawings  to 
the  engraver,  he  had  not  a  single  subscriber. 
Nevertheless,  he  persevered,  and  with  what  suc- 
cess has  been  seen.  Nor  did  prosperity  persuade 
him  to  relax  in  his  endeavours. 


160  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

Working  early  and  late  he  continued  to  im 
prove  as  far  as  possible  his  drawings,  as  well  as 
diligently  to  collect  from  his  portfolio  all  that 
related  to  the  habits  of  the  birds  represented 
At  length,  after  years  of  anxiety,  he  was  pre- 
sented with  the  first  volume  of  the  Birds  of 
America.  This  was  in  1835.  So  far,  at  least, 
he  had  the  delightful  assurance  of  the  triumph 
of  his  hopes.  Scrupulously  comparing  the 
plates,  he  felt  convinced  too  of  their  improve- 
ment as  they  proceeded,  and  looked  forward 
confidently  to  the  completion  of  the  second  vol 
ume. 

Subsequently  he  visited  London  and  Edin- 
burgh, receiving  from  his  friends  in  those  cities, 
the  most  kindly  assistance,  as  well  as  numerous 
interesting  additions  to  his  collections  in  some 
rare  and  beautiful  specimens  of  birds.  He  was 
especially  delighted  traversing  the  highlands  of 
Scotland.  The  rocky  shores  of  their  magnifi- 
cent lakes,  the  splendour  of  their  mountains,  and 
the  roar  of  the  torrents,  the  romantic  glens,  and 
picturesque  passes,  gorgeous  landscapes  and 
heather-purpled  hills,  with  clusters  of  the  lichen 
and  red-berried  mountain  ash,  awakened  his 
liveliest  admiration. 

In  the  third  volume  of  his  illustrations  it  wad 
Audubon's  object  to  give  a  description  of  the 
water  birds.     Owing  to  the  large  size  of  these 


DISCOVERIES.  1^1 

species,  in  comparison  with  those  of  the  land,  the 
representations  were  fewer  in  this,  than  in  either 
of  the  preceding  volumes.  The  colouring  and 
engravings,  however,  were  considered  as  supe- 
rior. It  contains  an  account  of  not  less  than 
sixty  new  species  of  water-birds,  to  be  met  with 
along  the  shores  and  streams  of  the  United 
States. 

The  honour  which  attaches  to  these  discoveries 
is  considerably  enhanced  when  we  consider  the 
peculiar  difficulties  attending  the  study  of  the 
aquatic  species.  Through  rough  and  tangled 
forest  tracts,  and  over  dreary  pathless  plains  the 
land  bird  must  patiently  be  followed,  but  the 
water  bird  as  it  sweeps  the  ocean,  or  scours  the 
rocks,  resorts  to  retreats  which  are  almost  inac- 
cessible. This  Audubon  proved,  when  com- 
pelled to  urge  his  boat  onwards,  for  miles,  perhaps, 
beneath  a  burning  sun,  tormented  the  while  with 
Bwarms  of  insects — to  lie  on  the  edge  of  a  preci- 
pice some  hundred  feet  above  the  waters,  or  to 
crawl  along  its  brink  in  order  to  procure  a  single 
specimen  I 

American  ornithology  is  rich  in  the  aquatic 
tribes.  Of  the  heron  it  contains  numerous  spe- 
cies. It  possesses  also  the  cormorant,  the  pelican, 
the  ibis,  the  curlew,  the  tern,  the  petrel,  the  gull, 
and  others 

Of  the  cormorants  the  double-crested  is  the 
14*  t 


162  AUDUBON   THE  NATURALIST. 

most  distinguished.  It  resorts  every  spring  to  the 
islets  of  Labrador,  after  sojourning  for  the  winter 
on  the  eastern  coasts.  In  long  lines,  sometimes 
forming  angles,  it  hovers  close  over  the  waters  in 
its  flight.  Occasionally  it  may  be  seen  to  sail  in  a 
beautiful  manner  at  a  considerable  height  above 
the  surface.  In  order  to  rise  from  the  water, 
in  which-  it  sinks  so  as  to  be  covered  when 
swimming,  it  runs  beating  the  waves  as  it  goes 
for  many  yards,  as  though  to  receive  an  impetus 
before  it  mounts  on  wing.  It  is  fond  of  sun 
ning  itself  with  extended  wings,  when  the  glossy 
blended  plumage  of  this  'beautiful  bird,  shining 
in  the  light,  is  seen  to  great  advantage.  Though 
differing  in  size,  as  well  as  in  the  structure  of  its 
plumage,  it  closely  resembles  the  cormorant  of 
Florida.  It  has  another  temporary  distinction 
during  the  breeding  season,  in  the  crest  or  tuft, 
which  consists  of  a  single  line  of  feathers  curved 
downwards. 

The  Florida  cormorant  is  a  constant  resident 
in  the  country  after  which  it  is  named.  Occa- 
sionally it  proceeds  as  far  as  Cape  Hatteras. 
Seldom  venturing  out  far  to  sea,  or  over  land, 
it  is  found  in  bays  and  inlets,  always  thus  fol- 
lowing the  windings  of  the  shores,  though  its 
course  should  be  extended  in  this  way  to  three 
times  the  necessary  length  for  reaching  a  given 
Bpot.     This  is  the  only  one  of  its  kind  observed 


GREAT  BLUE   HERON.  163 

to  alight  on  trees.  Among  the  branches  of  the 
dark  mangrove  its  nest  is  formed.  Its  flight, 
which  is  more  rapid  than  that  of  others  of  its 
kind,  is  performed  during  its  migrations  by  con- 
tinued flappings ;  but  at  other  times,  sailing  more 
sportively,  it  is  combined  with  the  most  elegant 
aerial  movements.  In  cloudy  weather,  these  birds 
soar  in  wide  circles  high  into  the  air,  frequently 
uttering  a  note  not  unlike  that  of  the  raven. 
Should  the  atmosphere  suddenly  change  to  cold, 
they  may  be  seen  in  groups  of  fifty  or  a  hundred, 
as  though  assembled  for  council,  when  arranging 
themselves  in  angular  double  lines,  in  marching 
order,  as  if  by  unanimous  consent  they  fly  swiftly 
southwards.  In  fair  calm  weather  they  betak 3 
themselves  in  flocks  to  some  rocky  isle  or  cluster 
of  trees,  where,  spreading  their  wings,  they  bask 
in  the  sunlight  for  hours.  Swimming  and  diving 
with  great  expertness — their  food  consists  prin- 
cipally of  fishes,  with  which  they  satisfy  the 
cravings  of  their  enormous  appetites.  Similar  in 
its  powers  of  flight,  its  habits  and  diet,  is  the 
common  cormorant,  found  along  the  coast  of 
Labrador,  and  rarely  seen  further  than  the  limits 
of  Maryland. 

In  fertile  Louisiana  the  elegant  great  blue 
heron  may  be  seen  on  the  margins  of  the 
beautiful  streams  and  inland  ponds,  his  grace* 
tul  neck  extended,  as  with  his  golden  eye  he 


164  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

glances  watchfully  around.  Cautiously  he  pro- 
ceeds till  the  appearance  of  his  prey — a  perch, 
perhaps — which,  troubling  the  waters,  immedi- 
ately the  heron  transfixes  with  his  bill,  then 
spreads  his  broad  wings  for  flight.  Possessing 
an  acuteness  of  vision  equal  to  that  of  the  fal- 
con, with  a  disposition  extremely  suspicious  and 
timid,  that  should  he  perceive  a  person  ap- 
proaching, he  will  instantly  take  to  wing.  Only 
during  the  love  season  are  these  herons  seen  in 
pairs,  at  other  times  exhibiting  a  morose  desire 
of  seclusion,  each  one  securing  to  himself  a  cer- 
tain portion  as  a  feeding  ground,  from  which  he 
chases  all  the  rest  The  excuse  may  be  the 
enormous  appetite  of  these  birds,  which  will  not 
permit  a  division  of  any  booty  that  may  be 
obtained. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  love  season, 
when  their  plumage  is  in  full  perfection,  they 
show  the  utmost  anxiety  to  render  themselves 
attractive  to  their  companions.  Should  any 
competition  arise,  the  rivals  instantly  become 
combatants,  when,  opening  their  powerful  bills 
and  spreading  their  wings,  they  rush  furiously 
upon  each  other.  For  half  an  hour  the  contest 
continues,  blows  are  returned  for  blows,  and 
strokes  are  parried  with  the  skill  of  accom- 
plished swordsmen.  At  length  the  vanquished 
one,  felled  to  the  earth,  is  there  left  to  recover 


THE   LOUISIANA  HERON.  165 

nimself,  the  victor  departing  with  the  prize. 
In  plantations,  thickly  matted  with  grasses, 
roofed  with  the  sombre  cypress,  their  nests  are 
found,  sometimes  on  the  tops  of  the  highest 
trees,  sometimes  a  few  feet  from  the  ground,  or 
even  on  it.  The  male  and  female  sit  alternately, 
receiving  food  from  each  other,  which  consists 
of  fish,  frogs,  birds,  and  even  the  smaller  animals. 
In  the  Carolinas,  where  are  a  number  of  reser- 
voirs and  streams  containing  fish,  which  intersect 
the  rice  fields,  these  birds  are  in  great  abundance. 
The  Louisiana  heron,  a  constant  resident  in 
the  Carolinas,  is  found  also  in  the  southern  parts 
of  the  Floridas.  So  delicate  and  beautiful  is  it 
in  attire  and  form  as  to  be  denominated  by  Au- 
dubon the  Lady  of  the  Waters.  With  graceful 
motion,  and  light  and  measured  tread,  this  lovely 
bird  in  dignified  ease  leisurely  traverses  the 
Florida  beaches,  with  so  fairylike  a  step  as  to 
leave  no  trace  upon  the  sand.  In  this  way  it 
exhibits  to  perfection  the  glowing  tints  of  its 
pendant  crest,  the  beautifully  blended  plumage 
of  its  back  and  wings  and  its  gracefully  falling 
train.  Always  sociable,  this  bird  migrates  in 
company  with  the  blue  heron,  or  night  egret, 
and  lrequently  associates  also  with  the  white, 
the  yellow  crowned,  and  the  night  herons. 
Tight,  irregular,  and  swift  in  flight,  it  moves 


166      AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

with  its  fellow  birds  in  an  undulating  manner 
in  long  lines,  rather  widely  separated. 

The  night  heron  as  well  as  the  snowy  heron 
closely  resemble  in  their  habits  the  rest  of  the 
species,  the  blue  heron  emulating  that  of  Louis- 
iana, in  the  ease  and  grace  of  its  motions. 

Frequenting  the  Floridas,  abounding  more 
towards  the  south,  are  the  brown  pelicans,  the 
most  interesting  of  their  species.  Hovering  over 
the  waters,  diving  for  prey,  or  slumbering  midst 
the  mangrove's  branches,  these  birds  there  exist 
in  multitudes.  Despite  their  weighty  proportions, 
they  possess  great  powers  of  flight,  being  able 
not  only  to  remain  many  hours  on  wing,  but  to 
rise  high  in  the  air,  where  they  perform  the 
most  beautiful  evolutions.  In  genial  weather, 
congegrating  in  groups,  as  though  for  social  en- 
joyment, they  rise,  flock  after  flock,  in  broad 
circles,  till  they  reach,  perhaps,  the  height  of  a 
mile,  when  with  their  wings  constantly  extended, 
they  float  gracefully,  coursing  each  other,  as  if 
in  an  aerial  labyrinth,  for  an  hour  or  more  at  a 
time.  Suddenly  with  wonderful  velocity  they 
dart  downwards  and  settle  on  the  waters,  where 
they  ride  like  a  dusky  fleet  along  the  billows. 
Or  sometimes  alighting  among  their  favourite 
mangroves,  they  spread  their  wings  to  the  breeze 
When  about  to  repose,  they  rest  upon  the  sand, 
or  remain  standing,  when  they  draw  their  head 


THE   FRIGATE   PELICAN.  167 

between  their  shoulders,  raise  one  of  their  feet, 
place  their  bills  upon  their  backs,  and  so  betako 
themselves  to  slumber.  Immediately  on  the  re- 
turn of  the  tide,  of  which  they  have  a  most 
unerring  intuition,  they  all  start  up,  and  spread- 
ing their  ample  pinions,  soar  in  search  of  prey. 
They  are  also  in  a  remarkable  degree  weather- 
wise,  and  should  they  be  seen  fishing  in  retired 
places,  it  is  the  sure  precursor  of  a  storm.  On 
the  contrary,  when  they  venture  out  to  see,  it  is 
a  certain  indication  of  fair  weather. 

The  frigate  pelicans  are  closely  allied  in  their 
habits,  as  in  many  of  their  characteristics,  to  the 
vulture.  Like  it  rapacious,  ferocious,  and  sloth- 
ful, their  predominating  traits  are  anything  but 
attractive.  Unscrupulously  these  birds  pillage 
each  other's  nests,  in  order  to  construct  their 
own  with  less  exertions ;  lord  it  over  others 
weaker  than  themselves,  and  even  devour  indis- 
criminately the  young  of  every  species.  They 
exhibit  extraordinary  dexterity  in  collecting 
materials  for  the  construction  of  their  nests, 
and  when  flitting  swiftly  on  wing  they  break 
off  the  twigs  of  trees  in  passing,  just  as  though 
for  amusement,  by  a  single  snap  of  their  pow- 
erful bills. 

The  frigate  pelican  possesses  a  power  of  flight 
equalled  by  few  other  birds,  surpassing  as  it 
does  that  of  the  gull,  the  tern,  and  the  hawk  in 


168  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

its  velocity.  Darting  from  on  high  in  pursuit 
of  its  pre  j,  which  the  keenness  of  its  vision  ena- 
bles it  to  perceive  at  a  great  distance,  it  boldly 
contests  the  possession  of  it  with  any  rival  that 
may  approach.  In  that  case,  glancing  from 
side  to  side,  it  surrounds  the  enemy  with  such 
strategic  skill,  as  effectually  to  cut  off  all  hope 
of  retreat,  until  at  length  he  is  found  to  drop 
the  prey  from  his  open  bill.  Several  of  his 
own  species  then  observing  the  good  fortune 
of  the  pelican,  smitten  with  envy,  enclose  him 
for  a  combat.  Dashing  towards  him  on  widely 
extended  wings,  they  writhe  around  in  wide 
circles,  each  one  as  it  overtakes  him  lashing 
him  with  its  pinions,  and  fighting  for  the  treas- 
ure. In  this  manner,  passing  from  bill  to  bill, 
the  poor  captive  is  carried  through  the  air.  With 
the  early  dawn,  this  bird  commences  his  pilgrim- 
age in  search  of  prey.  Before  the  awakening  of 
any  of  the  more  amiable  songsters,  he  emerges 
from  his  roosting  place  steathily.  Onwards  he 
sails  towards  the  deep,  when  the  richly-tinted 
green  waters  lie  still  ungladdened  by  the  sun. 
Then  flapping  his  pinions  far  into  the  pure 
azure  he  soars  and  floats  around.  Again  de 
scending  with  half  closed  wing  he  makes  to- 
wards the  sea,  and  having  secured  his  food 
shoots  away. 

Or  in  the  gloom  of  a  gathering  hurricane 


IBISES.  169 

when  the  misty  air  and  lurid  sky,  muttering 
thunder,  and  angrily  rolling  billows,  all  give 
evidence  of  its  approach,  he  may  be  seen  gal- 
lantly awaiting  the  storm.  Should  he  not  be 
able  to  force  a  passage  against  its  fury,  he  keeps 
his  ground  by  ballancing  himself  in  the  air  like 
the  hawk.  For  three  successive  springs  the 
plumage  of  this  bird  increases  in  beauty,  the 
green,  purple,  and  bronze  tints  acquiring  greater 
distinctness. 

Another  species  of  these  birds  is  the  Amer- 
ican white  pelican,  so  named  by  Audubon  in 
distinction  to  the  white  pelican  of  Europe ;  it 
varies  but  slightly  in  its  habits  from  the  rest  of 
its  tribe. 

Its  snowy  plumage,  when  unsoiled,  as  on 
rising  from  the  water,  is  extremely  beautiful,  as 
well  as  its  broadly  expanded  crest  and  eyes  of 
diamond  brightness. 

America  possesses  a  variety  of  the  ibis  in  the 
scarlet,  the  white,  the  brown,  the  glossy,  and 
the  wood  ibis.  The  latter  frequents  the  banks 
of  forest  pools,  swamps,  and  the  pine  barrens. 
In  desolate  recesses,  where  the  abounding  cy- 
presses, hung  with  lichens,  form  a  complete 
labyrinth  of  shade,  it  is  seen.  In  many  re- 
spects it  resembles  the  pelican  and  vulture,  as 
in  the  greediness  with  which  it  feeds ;  after 
which  it  remains  for  hours  in  a  state  of  reple- 
15 


170  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

tion.  Its  appearance  is  beautiful,  from  the  fine 
contrast  of  its  pure  white  plumage  with  its 
raven  tipped  wings.  When  at  rest  it  places  the 
bill  against  the  breast,  in  the  manner  of  the 
pelican. 

The  American  flamingo  resembling  the  ibis 
in  some  of  its  traits,  frequents  the  coasts  of 
Florida.  It  is  remarkable  for  the  splendour 
of  its  apparel,  .being  entirely  scarlet,  with  the 
exception  of  the  bill,  the  half  of  which,  as  well 
as  the  points  of  each  wing,  is  of  black.  Its 
eyes  are  blue. 

One  of  the  most  curious  amidst  the  feathered 
tribes  of  which  the  New  World  boasts,  is  the 
oyster  catcher.  It  may  be  considered  a  con- 
stant resident  in  the  States,  and  has  an  extensive 
range,  being  found  successively  along  the  coast, 
from  Maryland  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico — the 
shores  of  the  Floridas,  the  Middles  States,  North 
Carolina  and  Labrador.  Kemaining  among  the 
sands  or  rocky  shores  of  streams  and  bays,  it  is 
never  found  inland.  This  species  is  seldom 
seen  in  greater  numbers  than  from  one  to  three 
or  four  pairs,  except  indeed  in  winter,  when  they 
assemble  cosily  in  parties  of  twenty-five  or  thirty. 
Remarkably  dignified  in  its  demeanour,  this  bird 
is  attractive  as  well  as  interesting  in  its  appear* 
ance,  from  the  peculiarity  of  its  long,  slender, 
but  powerful  bill,  and  its  handsome  plumage, 


THE   OYSTER   CATCHER.  171 

the  beauty  of  which  is  especially  exhibited  when 
on  wing.  Similar  in  the  colours  of  its  apparel 
to  the  ivory-billed  woodpecker,  the  snowy  hue 
of  the  lower  portions  is  rendered  more  effective 
from  the  brilliant  tints  of  its  coral  bill,  and  the 
transparent  whiteness  of  its  wings,  with  the 
blended  jets  of  their  tips,  altogether  present  a 
most  striking  combination.  Its  flight,  swift  and 
graceful,  is  also  powerful  and  sustained,  some- 
times accompanied  also  hy  the  most  extraordi- 
nary evolutions.  When  in  groups  they  pass 
impetuously,  wheeling;  then,  suddenly  check- 
ing their  course,  return,  not  low  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  as  before,  but  soaring  high. 
Then  forming  themselves  into  ranks,  presenting 
a  broad  front,  in  a  moment,  as  though  alarmed, 
again  they  close,  and  dive  towards  the  sands  or 
the  waves.  Should  they  be  aimed  at  then,  the 
shot  generally  strikes  more  than  one,  but  the 
rest,  as  soon  as  aware  of  danger,  meet  in  a 
straggling  line,  and  are  soon  out  of  sight  or 
reach.  Vigilant  and  timid,  this  bird  is  con- 
stantly on  the  alert.  Should  it  perceive  any 
one  watching  it,  immediately  it  sends  forth  a 
loud,  shrill  cry  of  alarm,  and  on  being  ap- 
proached, flies  entirely  out  of  view.  Thus  the 
only  means  of  observing  its  habits,  Audubon 
found,  was  in  the  use  of  the  telescope.  When 
quie'ly  pursuing  its  occupations,  it  is  observed 


172  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

often  to  probe  the  sand  to  the  full  length  Df  ita 
bill.  This  weapon,  too,  it  ingeniously  insinu- 
ates between  the  shell  like  a  chisel;  in  this 
manner  seizing  and  devouring  the  oysters 
which  are  found  in  shallow  waters.  Some- 
times it  dashes  the  shell  against  the  sand,  until 
broken,  and  thus  the  contents  are  obtained. 
Swimming  for  yards  at  a  time,  it  catches  up 
shrimps  and  crabs,  and  may  be  seen  patting  the 
sand,  to  force  out  the  insects  which  it  greedily 
swallows. 

It  does  not  form  any  regular  nest,  but  merely 
scratches  the  sand  till  a  hollow  is  formed,  where 
the  eggs  are  deposited.  On  these,  during  the 
heat  of  the  sun,  it  does  not  sit.  Sometimes> 
however,  when  laid  on  the  bare  rock,  as  found 
on  the  coast  of  Labrador,  and  the  bay  of  Fun- 
dy,  the  bird  broods  in  the  fashion  of  others 
of  the  feathered  species.  It  must  not  be  cen- 
sured as  entirely  careless  of  its  young,  as  it 
always  seeks  for  places  in  which  to  deposit  its 
eggs,  spots  covered  with  fragments  of  shells,  or 
sea  weeds,  in  order  that  they  may  be  hidden. 
Should  it  be  molested  when  sitting,  moreover, 
it  screams  loudly,  at  the  same  time  flying  over 
and  around  the  enemy,  so  as  to  evince  the 
utmost  solicitude. 

Equally  interesting,  from  its  curious  habits,  in 
the  anhinga  or  snake  bird.    In  the  most  secluded 


THE  SNAKE   BIRD.  173 

swamps,  among  the  forest  branches,  or  en  the 
margin  of  streams  and  lakes  it  is  found.  It 
frequents  Louisiana,  Georgia,  Alabama  and  the 
Floridas. 

On  the  bough  of  the  tallest  cypress,  the  female 
may  be  seen  closely  brooding  over  her  eggs. 
Meanwhile  her  partner,  with  outspread  wings, 
his  fan-like  tail  extended,  soars  afar,  glancing 
alternately  at  his  companion,  then  keenly  around 
for  their  enemies.  Higher  and  higher  in  wide 
bold  circles  he  floats  upward  until,  a  mere  speck, 
he  mingles  with  the  azure  expanse.  Suddenly 
with  closed  wings  he  dashes  downward,  and 
alighting  on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  gazes  fondly 
on  his  beloved. 

As  the  young  develop  in  strength,  they  may 
be  seen  to  test  it  by  standing  upright  in  the 
nest,  and  flapping  their  wings  for  several  minutes 
at  a  time.  Soon  after  they  are  forced  by  their 
parents  to  leave  the  home  of  their  infancy,  in 
order  that  another  brood  may  be  reared  in  their 
stead.  The  anhinga  seldom  frequents  the  im- 
mediate vicinity  of  the  sea,  preferring  rivers  and 
lakes  in  the  lower  and  level  parts  of  the  country. 
The  Floridas,  from  their  number  of  stagnant 
streams  and  pools,  possessing  abundance  of  fish, 
reptiles,  and  insects,  especially  attract  it.  Never 
is  it  met  with  on  clear  or  rapid  waters,  and  a 
singular  fact  in  connection  with  its  habits  is,  that 
15* 


174      AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

in  never  selects  sojourning  places  where  it  if 
debarred  the  means  of  escape  from  its  enemies. 

Thus  it  never  frequents  a  pool  completely 
enclosed  by  trees.  Preferring  the  most  im- 
penetrable morasses,  it  lurks  amidst  the  topmost 
boughs  of  some  trees  growing  from  out  a  pond 
in  its  centre,  as  in  this  commanding  situation,  it 
is  the  better  enabled  to  perceive  the  approach 
of  an  enemy.  In  securing  its  prey,  it  never 
plunges  from  an  eminence,  though  sometimes  it 
drops  silently  into  the  water,  but  only  for  the 
purpose  of  swimming,  and  afterwards  diving  for 
booty.  Invariably  it  returns  to  the  same  roost- 
ing places,  generally  on  the  shore  of  a  stream,  or 
else  directly  over  the  water. 

To  these  retreats  it  hastens  after  feeding, 
where  basking  in  the  sun,  it  stands  erect,  its 
long  wings  and  large  fan-like  tail  extended, 
throwing  out  its  slender  head  and  neck  in  the 
most  curious  manner,  with  sudden  jerks,  while 
with  its  beautiful  bright  eyes  it  glances  around. 
The  anhinga  is  a  very  expert  diver,  plunging, 
and  instantly  disappearing  so  lightly  as  not  even 
to  cause  a  ripple  on  the  surface.  Though  usually 
but  partially  emerged  when  swimming,  on  the 
least  alarm  it  sinks  further,  so  as  to  hide  itself 
from  sight.  From  the  peculiar  motions  of  its 
head  and  neck,  which  cause  it  to  resemble  the 
form  of  a  snake,  it  takes  its  name. 


CHRISTOPHER  NORTH.  175 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

HP  HE  Scottish  capital,  above  all  other  cities, 
-*^  seems  to  have  been  associated  by  Audubon 
with  pleasant  and  grateful  recollections. 

He  had  wandered  among  the  exquisite  scenea 
of  the  highlands,  delighted  with  the  natural 
beauties  of  this  northern  land,  where,  as  an 
additional  charm,  dwelt  not  a  few  of  his  warmest 
admirers  and  steadfast  friends.  The  most  affect- 
ionate testimony  appears  in  his  "  Biography," 
to  the  kindness  and  assistance  received  from 
them,  in  various  ways,  and  a  special  tribute  of 
thanks  is  offered  to  Dr.  Argyle  Robertson,  as 
well  as  to  Mr.  William  Macgillivray,  whose 
talents  Audubon  acknowledges  to  have  been  of 
the  most  important  service  to  him  in  the  pro- 
duction of  his  great  work. 

Nor  was  a  less  earnest  remembrance  of  Au- 
dubon retained  by  his  friends,  numbering  among 
them  Christopher  North,  whose  pages  contain 
the  following  happy  delineation  of  an  evening 
Bpent  with  the  great  naturalist : — * 

*  Noctes  Ambrosianee. 


176  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

"We  were  sitting  one  night,  lately,"  he  say  a, 
"all  alone  by  ourselves,  almost  unanimously 
eyeing  the  embers,  fire  without  flame,  in  the 
many-visioned  grate,  but  at  times  aware  of  the 
symbols  and  emblems  there  beautifully  built  up 
of  the  ongoings  of  human  life,  when  a  knocking, 
not  loud,  but  resolute,  came  to  the  front  door. 
At  first  we  supposed  it  might  be  some  late  home- 
going  knight- errant,  from  a  feast  of  shells,  in  a 
mood  between  '  malice  and  true  love/  seeking 
to  disquiet  the  slumbers  of  old  Christopher,  in 
expectation  of  seeing  his  night-cap  (which  he 
never  wears)  popped  out  of  the  window,  and 
hearing  his  voice  (of  which  he  is  chary,  in  the 
open  air)  simulating  a  scold  upon  the  audacious 
sleep-breaker.  So  we  benevolently  laid  back 
our  head  on  our  easy  chair,  and  pursued  our 
speculations  on  the  state  of  affairs  in  general, 
and  more  particularly  on  the  floundering  fall  of 
that  inexplicable  people — the  Whigs.  We  had 
been  wondering — and  of  our  wondering  found 
no  end — what  could  have  been  their  chief  reasons 
for  committing  suicide.  It  appeared  a  case  of 
very  singular  fdo  de  se — for  they  had  so  timed 
the  ■  rash  act,'  as  to  excite  suspicion  in  the  publij 
mind,  that  his  majesty  had  committed  murder. 
Circumstances,  however,  had  soon  come  to  light 
that  proved  to  demonstration,  that  the  ministry 
had  laid  violent  hands  on  itself,  and  effected  its 


A   MEETING.  177 

purpose  by  strangulation.  There  was  the  fatal 
black  ring  visible  round  the  neck — though  a 
mere  thread ;  there  were  the  bloodshot  eyes  pro- 
truding from,  the  sockets;  and  there,  sorriest 
sight  of  all,  was  the  ghastly  suicidal  smile,  last 
relic  of  the  laughter  of  despair !  But  the  knock- 
ing would  not  leave  off;  and  listening  to  its 
character,  we  felt  assured  it  came  from  the  fist 
of  a  friend.  So  we  gathered  up  our  slippered 
feet  from  the  rug,  lamp  in  hand,  stalked  along 
the  lobbies,  unchained  and  unlocked  the  oak 
which  our  faithful  night-porter,  Somnus,  had 
sported — and  lo!  a  figure,  muffled  up  in  a 
cloak,  and  furred  like  a  Russ,  advanced  famili- 
arly into  the  hall,  extended  both  hands,  bade 
God  bless  us,  and  pronounced,  with  somewhat 
of  a  foreign  accent,  the  name  in  which  we  and 
the  world  rejoiced,  ■  Christopher  North !'  We 
were  not  slow  in  returning  the  hug  fraternal, 
for  who  was  it,  but  the  l  American  woodsman  ?' 
— even  Audubon  himself — fresh  from  the  Flo 
ridas,  and  breathing  of  the  pure  air  of  far-ofl 
Labrador ! 

"  Three  years,  and  upwards,  had  fled  since  w 
had  taken  farewell  of  the  illustrious  ornithologvt 
« — on  the  same  spot — at  the  same  hour;  and 
there  was  something  ghost-like  in  such  return 
of  a  dear  friend  from  a  distant  region,  almost  as 
from  the  land  of  spirits.     It  seemed  as  if  the 


178  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

same  moon  looked  at  us — but  then,  she  was  wan, 
and  somewhat  sad — now,  clear  as  a  diamond, 
and  all  the  starry  heavens  wore  a  smile.  '  Out 
words,  they  were  no  mony  feck' — but  in  lesa 
time  than  we  have  taken  to  write  it  we  two 
were  sitting  cheek  by  jowl,  and  hand  in  hand, 
by  that  essential  fire — while  we  showed  by  our 
looks  that  we  both  felt,  now  they  were  over,  that 
three  years  are  but  as  one  day !  The  cane  coal- 
scuttle, instinct  with  spirit,  beeted  the  fire  of  its 
own  accord,  without  word  or  beck  of  ours,  as  if 
placed  there  by  the  hands  of  one  of  our  wakeful 
Lares ;  in  globe  of  purest  crystal  the  Grlenlivet 
shone ;  unasked,  the  bright  brass  kettle  began 
to  whisper  its  sweet  under-song;  and  a  centenary 
of  the  fairest  oysters,  native  to  our  isle,  turned 
towards  us  their  languishing  eyes,  unseen  the 
Nereid  that  had  on  the  instant  wafted  them  from 
the  procreant  cradle-beds  of  Prestonpans.  Grace 
said,  we  drew  in  to  supper,  and  hobnobbing, 
from  elegant  long-shank,  down  each  natural- 
ist's gullet  graciously  descended,  with  a  gurgle, 
the  mildest,  the  meekest,  the  very  Moses  of 
ales. 

"  Audubon,  ere  half  an  hour  had  elapsed, 
found  an  opportunity  of  telling  us  that  he  had 
never  seen  us  in  a  higher  state  of  preservation 
— and  in  a  low  voice  whispered  something  about 
the  '  eagle  renewing  his  youth.'     TVe  acknowl- 


GAYETIES  AND   GRAVITIES.  179 

edged  the  kindness  by  a  remark  on  bold  bright 
birds  of  passage,  that  find  the  seasons  obedient 
to  their  will,  and  wing  their  way  through  worlds, 
still  rejoicing  in  the  perfect  year.  But  too  true 
friends  were  we,  not  to  be  sincere  in  all  we 
seriously  said;  and  while  Audubon  confessed 
that  he  saw  rather  more  plainly  than  when  we 
parted  the  crowfeet  in  the  corners  of  our  eyes, 
we  did  not  deny  that  we  saw  in  him  an  image 
of  the  Falco  Leucocephalus,  for  that  looking  on 
his  l  carum  caput,'  it  answered  his  own  descrip- 
tion of  that  handsome  and  powerful  bird,  viz., 
*  the  general  colour  of  the  plumage  above  is  dull 
hair  brown,  the  lower  parts  being  deeply  brown, 
broadly  margined  with  greyish  white.7  But  here 
he  corrected  us,  for  '  surely,  my  dear  friend/ 
quoth  he,  '  you  must  admit  I  am  a  living  spe- 
cimen of  the  adult  bird,  and  you  remember  my 
description  of  him  in  my  first  volume.7  And 
thus  blending  our  gravities  and  our  gayeties, 
we  sat  facing  one  another,  each  with  his  last 
oyster  on  the  prong  of  his  trident,  which  dis- 
appeared like  all  mortal  joys,  between  a  smile 
and  a  sigh. 

"  It  was  quite  a  noctes.  Audubon  told  us — 
by  snatches — all  his  travels,  history,  and  many 
an  anecdote  interspersed  of  the  dwellers  among 
the  woods,  birds,  beasts,  and  man." 

This  enthusiastic  record  is  equalled  by  that  of 


180  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

the  travellers,*  who,  during  a  journey  by  canal 
route  from  Philadelphia,  chanced,  through  good 
fortune,  to  have  Audubon  for  their  companion. 

Through  the  noise  and  bustle,  round  about 
them,  of  the  crowd  on  board  the  boat,  his  well- 
known  name  sounded  on  their  ears. 

"  Mr.  Audubon  is  last  on  the  list,"  observed 
the  speaker,  "  I  fear  he  will  not  get  a  bed,  we 
are  so  crowded." 

"  What,  is  it  possible,  Mr.  Audubon  can  be 
on  board?"  they  rejoined,  "  the  man  of  all  othera 
in  the  world  we  wanted  most  to  see.  Where  ? 
Which  is  he?" 

"  He  is  actually  in  this  very  cabin,"  said  their 
informant,  "  there,"  he  added,  pointing  to  a  huge 
pile  of  blankets  and  fur,  which,  stretched  upon 
one  of  the  benches,  looked  like  the  substantial 
bale  of  some  western  trader.  "  What,  that  Mr. 
Audubon!"  exclaimed  the  travellers — whose 
names  were  at  the  moment  called  out  by  the 
captain  as  entitled  to  the  first  choice  of  berths. 
This  privilege  they  openly  renounced  in  favour 
of  Audubon.  And  now  the  green  ball  stirred 
a  little,  half  turned  upon  its  narrow  resting- 
place,  after  awhile  sat  erect,  and  showed  that 
there  was  a  man  inside  of  it!     A  patriarchal 

*  Talk  about  birds  and  Audubon. — North  Atncricnn 
Review. 


HIS  CHARACTERISTICS.  181 

beard  fell  white  and  wavy  down  Lis  breast ;  a 
pair  of  hawklike  eyes  gleamed  sharply  out  from 
the  frizzy  shroud  of  cap  and  collar.  The  lookers 
on  drew  near,  with  a  thrill  of  irrepressible  cu 
riosity.  The  moment  their  eyes  beheld  the 
noble  contour  of  that  Koman  face,  they  felt  it 
could  be  he,  and  no  one  else.  Audubon  it  was, 
in  this  wilderness  garb,  hale  and  alert  with  sixty 
winters  on  his  shoulders,  like  one  of  his  old 
eagles,  "  feathered  to  the  heel."  He  looked,  as 
they  had  dreamed,  the  antique  Plato,  with  his 
fine  classic  head  and  lofty  mean,  the  valorous 
and  venerable  sage. 

The  travellers,  soon  on  intimate  terms  with 
their  admired  companion,  were  delighted  in 
listening  to  the  ever  fresh  relation  of  his  ex- 
ploits, discoveries,  and  experiences,  instructive 
from  the  singular  stores  of  knowledge  and  pro- 
found accuracy  of  information  the  naturalist  dis- 
played. Somewhat  silent  in  general,  his  con- 
versation was  impulsive  and  fragmentary.  A 
mellow  Gallic  idiom  marked  his  speech. 

When  ashore  the  travellers  found  he  out- 
stripped in  walking,  with  perfect  ease,  his  con- 
siderably younger  companions ;  while  the  clear- 
ness and  power  of  his  vision  showed  hew  entirely 
the  vigour  of  his  constitution  was  retained.  One 
clear,  fine  morning,  when  passing  through  a 
particularly  picturesque  region,  his  keen  eyes, 
16 


182      AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

with  an  abstracted  intense  expression  pecuiiai 
to  them,  were  gazing  over  the  scenery,  when 
suddenly  he  pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  fence 
of  a  field,  about  two  hundred  yards  off,  with  the 
exclamation,  "  See,  yonder  is  a  fox-squirrel, 
running  along  the  top  rail,  it  is  not  often  I  have 
seen  one  in  Pennsylvania." 

As  not  one  other  person  in  the  group  who 
looked  in  the  direction  with  him,  could  detect 
the  creature  at  all,  his  companions  felt  some 
skepticism  as  to  whether  he  could  discern  the 
object  so  distinctly,  as  to  discover  its  species, 
and  curiously  asked  him  if  he  were  sure  that  it 
was  a  fox  squirrel? 

Audubon  smiled,  as  flashing  his  eagle's  glance 
upon  them,  he  answered,  "Ah !  I  have  an  eagleV 
eye&" 


ENCOURAGEMENT.  183 


CHAPTER    XIY. 

C  PITE  the  enthusiastic  admiration  of  Audubon 
^  for  the  Scottish  highlands,  and  the  numerous 
attractions,  as  well  as  grateful  associations  that 
linked  him  to  the  English  metropolis,  which  he 
subsequently  visited,  his  heart  yearned  for  the 
majestic  woods  of  his  beloved  land. 

Previous  to  his  departure  for  America,  how- 
ever, the  gladness  of  anticipated  return  to  his 
native  shores,  the  satisfaction  of  witnessing  the 
increasing  success  of  his  work,  and  the  encour- 
agement afforded  him  by  a  still  extending  circle 
of  subscribers  in  Europe,  were  sources  of  hap- 
piness alloyed  by  one  distress — anxiety  respect- 
ing the  precarious  health  of  his  wife.  The  thought 
of  separation  too,  and  his  approaching  absence 
heightened  his  solicitude,  denied  that  dearest 
consolation  of  watching  over  its  object.  But  at 
this  trying  juncture,  he  was  solaced  by  the  ready 
sympathy  and  benevolence  of  friendship,  in  the 
unfailing  kindness  of  Mr.  Philips,  at  that  time 
the  medical  adviser  of  his  family,  whom  he  had 
but  recently  numbered  among  the  subscribers  to 


184  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

his  work.  The  liberality  and  kindness  of  this 
excellent  man  is  recorded  with  the  warmest 
eulogy  by  Audubon,  who  gratefully  makes  men- 
tion  of  his  services,  together  with  those  received 
from  his  excellent  friends,  Dr.  Argyle  Robertson, 
Dr.  Roscoe,  and  Dr.  Carswell. 

The  courtesies  of  acquaintance  between  Mr. 
Philips  and  Audubon  soon  ripened  into  in- 
timacy, and  many  an  instance  occurred  which 
proved  to  the  naturalist,  not  only  the  worth  of 
his  friend's  attachment,  but  the  value  of  his  en- 
lightenment, experience,  and  superior  medical 
skill.  Audubon's  situation  at  the  time,  more- 
over, caused  him  to  receive,  as  well  as  to  re- 
member, with  especial  gratitude,  the  generous 
assistance  which  it  was  in  the  power  of  his  friend, 
by  unremitting  professional  attention,  to  afford. 
Thus  assured  of  an  unceasing  watchfulness  during 
his  absence,  over  the  delicate  condition  of  his 
wife's  health,  he  was  enabled  to  leave  the  Eng- 
lish shores  with  a  peaceful  assurance  of  heart,  to 
which  he  would  otherwise  have  been  a  stranger. 

In  August,  therefore,  (1836,)  he  proceeded  ou 
his  voyage.  Lingering  at  Philadelphia,  he  nad 
the  gratification  of  meeting  Nuttall,  distinguished 
alike  for  his  acquirements  in  zoology,  botany, 
and  mineralogy,  who  arrived  at  the  city  from  his 
recent  excursion  over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to 
the  Pacific,  during  Audubon's  stay.     Endowed 


HONORARY   ELECTION.  185 

with  the  most  disinterested  zeal  for  science,  he 
at  once  generously  presented  Audubon  with 
every  prize  of  ornithological  discovery  in  hia 
possession,  inscribing  at  the  same  time,  in  his 
journal,  all  that  related  to  the  habits  of  the  sev- 
eral species. 

At  Philadelphia,  he  anxiously  sought  access 
to  the  scientific  treasury  of  Townsend,  inde- 
fatigable in  his  endeavours  to  concentrate  in  hi? 
own  publication  the  fruits  of  all  previous  re- 
search. As  before,  however,  Philadelphia  af- 
forded him  but  little  encouragement,  many  of 
its  inhabitants,  though  the  self-styled  lovers  of 
science,  so  far  from  assisting  his  efforts,  objecting 
even  to  his  viewing  the  collection  of  Townsend, 
as  well  as  to  his  desire  of  incorporating  its  dis 
coveries  with  his  own. 

Such  opposition  was  the  more  uncalled  for, 
since  it  was  entirely  at  variance  with  the  wishes 
of  the  possessor  of  the  specimens  in  question, 
who,  absent  at  that  time,  afterwards  evinced  the 
warmest  desire  to  render  his  acquisitions  of  ser- 
vice to  Audubon,  who,  spite  of  all  obstacles,  at 
length  succeeded  in  his  hopes  regarding  them. 
From  Philadelphia,  he  bent  his  course  towards 
Baltimore,  and  from  thence  to  Charleston.  While 
here,  he  received  the  intelligence  of  his  having 
been  elected  a  member  of  the  Ornithological 
Society  of  London. 
1G* 


186  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

From  New  Orleans,  down  the  Mississippi, 
through  its  south-west  pass,  he  proceeded,  and 
arrived  in  April,  (1837,)  at  the  Mexican  Griilf^ 
pausing  now  and  then  for  the  purpose  of  explor- 
ing the  islands  dotting  its  inlets. 

In  these  excursions  often  he  wandered  through 
muddy  swamps  for  whole  days,  exposed  in  ad- 
dition to  the  terrible  ordeal  of  a  scorching  sun, 
rendered  still  more  unendurable  by  the  swarms 
of  insects  which  prevailed.  At  a  later  date, 
during  several  cross  journeyings  over  the  coun- 
try, he  was  compelled  to  wade  through  unculti- 
vated wastes,  by  tracks  more  resembling  quag- 
mires than  roads ;  plodding  thus  daily,  supported 
only  by  whatever  chance  provision  the  barbarity 
of  the  land  might  afford. 

At  night  the  arduous  enterprise  was  ex- 
changed, not  for  the  refreshment  of  downy  bed 
and  pillows,  but  the  miserable  shelter,  perhaps, 
of  a  cart,  in  which,  lying  cramped,  he  was  slowly 
jolted  onwards  till  dawn,  when  his  researches 
were  again  renewed !  Though  not  a  single  dis- 
co very  resulted  from  his  toilsome  wanderings 
at  this  period,  they  proved,  nevertheless,  profit- 
able, as  well  as  interesting,  since  he  thus  obtained 
not  only  a  more  accurate  knowledge  of  the 
migratory  movements  of  several  species,  already 
known  to  him,  but  understood  more  distinctly 
their  geographical  distribution. 


OBSTACLES  AND   PERPLEXIUES.  157 

Touching  in  his  homeward  course  at  Balti- 
more, Philadelphia,  and  New  York,  where  he 
remained  a  fortnight,  he  again  paused  at  Liver- 
pool, for  the  pleasure  of  once  more  greeting  his 
numerous  friends  there,  before  proceeding  to 
join  his  family  in  London.  This  meeting  we 
readily  conceive  to  have  been  productive  of  un- 
usual gratification  and  delight.  After  an  interval 
of  anxious  separation,  doubly  joyful  for  Audu- 
bon, was  reunion  to  the  beloved  companion  of 
his  life.  The  gladness  of  the  family  gathering, 
too,  we  imagine  to  have  been  increased,  by  the 
especial  interest  and  hilarity  natural  to  the  oc- 
casion— the  introduction  of  one  in  her  newly 
formed  several  relations,  a  daughter,  a  sister,  and 
a  bride ;  for  the  son  of  Audubon,  who  had  ac- 
companied him  in  his  recent  expedition,  had  but 
lately  been  united  to  the  daughter  of  his  friend, 
Dr.  Bachman. 

The  "  Birds  of  America"  proceeded  satisfac- 
torily, though  several  subscribers  manifested 
impatience  for  the  completion  of  the  work,  and 
some  even  discontinued  their  subscription.  Out 
of  deference  to  the  wishes  of  these,  Audubon 
was  induced  to  crowd,  occasionally,  a  number 
of  species  into  one  plate,  and  fortunate  it  was 
that  a  laudable  regard  for  his  cherished  plan 
prevented  him  from  further  acquiescence  to  its 
detriment. 


188  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

He  was  honoured  shortly  after  this  date  by  a 
diploma  from  the  Literary  and  Historical  Society 
of  Quebec.  Aided  by  the  diligence  of  his  friend, 
Mr.  Robert  Havel,  the  engraver  of  the  "  Birds 
of  America,"  to  whose  assiduity  and  care  Audu- 
bon frequently  bears  grateful  testimony,  he  was 
enabled  to  offer  his  illustrations  with  unfailing 
punctuality  to  the  public,  till  the  completion  of 
the  fourth  volume. 

The  beautiful  meadow  lark  of  America  may 
be  found  in  the  Floridas,  Louisiana,  and  Caro- 
lina, where  it  abounds  during  the  winter.  Its 
resorts  are  grassy  spots  where  flowers  in  rich 
luxuriance  give  forth  their  fragrance  beneath 
golden  floods  of  sunlight.  In  retreats  like  these, 
ere  yet  the  moon  has  disappeared  in  the  west,  or 
the  crystal  dew-drops  of  the  morning  are  brushed 
from  off  the  boughs,  and  the  many  warblers  of 
the  forest  still  slumber  in  wood  and  brake,  the 
buo}Tant  lark  arises  on  light  pinions,  and  gladly 
launches  into  the  pure  air.  His  powers  refreshed 
by  repose,  he  awaits  with  joy -glowing  breast  the 
answering  notes  of  his  beloved,  whom  he  im- 
plores with  the  heart-touching  melody  of  his 
Bong.  She  yet  lingers — to  his  singing  accents, 
loud  and  clear,  comes  no  reply. 

Impatiently  he  then  glances  round,  and  irri- 
tated at  her  continued  absence,  seeks  the  refuge 
of  some  verdurous  shale  in  which  to  indulge  his 


THE  MEADOW  LARK.  189 

chagiin.  Loudly  he  then  calls,  as  if  reproach 
fully,  or  even  h.  anger,  when  suddenly  all  is 
changed  to  tenderness  at  the  timid  gentle  tones 
which  tell  the  coming  of  his  love.  His  wings 
are  spread  immediately,  and  with  sprightly  bliss 
he  flies  to  meet  her. 

Precious  moments  of  mutual  rapture  are  then 
passed,  and  the  tale  of  their  affection  is  melodi- 
ously told,  when  sweet  assurance  of  undying 
fidelity  are  given  in  answer  to  gentle  chidings 
for  delay.  The  flight  of  the  meadow  lark  is 
peculiar.  Suddenly  springing  from  the  ground, 
with  the  flittering  movement  of  a  young  bird,  it 
pauses  for  a  while  in  its  course,  glancing  at  the 
same  time  backwards,  as  though  suspicious  of 
danger. 

If  pursued,  it  moves  more  swiftly,  sailing  and 
beating  its  wings  alternately,  until  it  floats  far 
away  into  the  bright  azure,  like  a  spirit  of  glad- 
ness. Migrating  always  by  day,  it  is  sometimes 
seen  in  groups  of  fifty  or  a  hundred,  flying  above 
the  tallest  forest  trees.  Cases  of  single  combat 
not  unfrequently  occur  by  the  way,  when  the 
fugitive  foes  who  have  wandered  from  the  track 
to  indulge  their  wrath,  are  all  at  once  reconciled 
— hasten  their  flight  to  overtake  their  com- 
panions in  their  course,  and  the  march  is  peace- 
ably continued.  On  the  approach  of  Spring, 
these  flocks  are  broken  up,  and  the  male  birds 


190  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

continue  the  migration  alone.  At  this  season, 
the  beauty  of  their  plumage,  as  well  as  the 
elegance  of  their  motions,  is  much  increased, 
their  notes  flow  forth  in  rapturous  intricate  har- 
mony of  soul-moving  joy,  and  the  grace  of  every 
external  indication  proves  the  refining,  eleva- 
ting influence  of  the  passion  which  thrills  their 
breasts. 

A  cavity  scooped  in  the  ground  serves  to 
form  their  nest.  It  is  lined  with  the  softest  ver- 
durous substances,  and  matted  leaves  are  placed 
around  to  conceal  it.  The  meadow  lark  displays 
the  utmost  solicitude  for  its  young,  and  an  intui- 
tive benevolence  seems  to  prevail  with  regard  to 
this  tender,  loving  bird,  the  farmer,  while  cutting 
his  hay,  always,  it  is  said,  respecting  the  tuft  in 
which  its  nest  is  placed,  which  is  seldom  de- 
stroyed by  children  even. 

Frequenting  the  vicinity  of  the  sea,  the  shore 
lark  is  found  on  the  high  wild  tracts  of  Labrador. 
Amidst  the  curious  vegetation  of  this  inclement 
land,  where  from  out  gorgeous  cliffs  clad  with 
dangling  snow-drifts  furious  cataracts  pour  to- 
wards the  plain,  it  seeks  a  home.  Amongst  the 
mosses  and  lichens  which,  in  snowy  tufts  or  tinted 
embroidery  of  green,  cover  the  dark  granitic- 
looking  expanse  of  the  country,  the  shore  lark 
places  her  nest  so  carefully,  as  to  make  it  appear 
a  part  of  the  natural  vegetation,  the  similarity 


THE   MANGO   HUMMING  BIRD.  191 

of  colour  between  the  mosses  and  the  attire 
of  the  bird  forming  an  additional  defence  for  it 
The  nest,  which  is  composed  of  the  finest  grasses, 
forms,  as  it  were,  a  bed  about  two  inches  thick, 
and  is  rendered  additionally  comfortable,  from 
its  soft  inner  lining  of  feathers. 

The  male  of  this  species  has  a  very  sweet  song, 
though  not  protracted.  Springing  from  the  rock, 
it  soars  for  about  forty  yards,  then,  after  perform- 
ing a  few  evolutions,  returns  to  the  ground,  dur- 
ing which  time,  its  chaunt  is  begun  and  ended. 
Another,  and  one  of  the  most  interesting  among 
the  specimens  of  American  Ornithology,  is  the 
mango  humming  bird,  emulating,  in  the  splen- 
dour of  its  apparel,  the  gem-like  lustre  of  that 
celestial  pilgrim,  the  most  beautiful  among  the 
feathered  inhabitants  of  the  Indian  Isles,  known 
as  the  bird  of  paradise. 

The  mango  humming  bird  is  thus  described. 
"  In  those  warm  climates,  where  the  bignonians 
and  other  tubular  flowers  that  bloom  throughout 
the  year,  and  innumerable  insects  that  sport  in 
the  sunshine,  afford  an  abundance  of  food,  these 
lively  birds  are  the  greatest  ornaments  of  the 
gardens  and  forests.  Such  in  most  cases  is  the 
brilliancy  of  their  plumage,  that  I  am  unable  to 
find  apt  objects  of  comparison,  unless  I  resort  to 
the  most  brilliant  gems  and  the  richest  metals. 
So  rapid  is  their  flight,  that  they  seem  to  out- 


192  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

strip  the  wind.  Almost  always  on  the  wing,  we 
scarcely  see  them  in  any  other  position.  Living 
on  the  honeyed  sweets  of  the  most  beautiful 
flowers,  and  the  minute  insects  concealed  in 
their  corollas,  they  come  to  us  as  ethereal  beings, 
and  it  is  not  surprising  that  they  should  have 
excited  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  man- 
kind." 

This  genus  consists  of  upwards  of  a  hundred 
species,  all  of  which,  it  is  said,  are  peculiar  to 
the  Continent  of  America  and  the  adjoining 
Islands. 

Contrasted  with  these,  are  those  birds  which, 
delighting  in  rapacity  and  cruelty,  are  the  terror 
of  the  winged  tribes.  The  evil  chaiacter  of  these, 
superstition  has  not  failed  to  magnify  and  invest 
with  a  thousand  imaginary  horrors.  Thus  that 
so-called  ominous  bird,  the  raven,  is  maligned 
and  persecuted.  His  usefulness  entirely  forgot- 
ten, a  war  of  extirmination  is  mercilessly  waged 
against  him,  and  his  retreats  attacked,  even 
though  at  the  cost  of  the  greatest  peril  to  the 
invaders,  his  nest  being  invariably  placed  in  the 
most  inaccessible  cavities  of  the  rock. 

In  America,  the  raven  which  frequents  the 
middle,  western,  and  northern  portions  of  the 
States,  usually  resorts  to  mountains,  banks  of 
rivers,  rocky  shores,  and  the  cliffs  of  deserted 
islands.      Species    of   the  crow  are   also   met 


THE  VULTURE  AND  THE   HAWK.         193 

with.  The  roosting  places  of  these  birds  are 
singularly  interesting.  "They  choose,"  Audu- 
bon tells  us,  "the  margin  of  ponds,  lakes,  and 
rivers,  upon  the  rank  weeds." 

The  observations  of  other  travellers  have, 
however,  met  with  them  in  very  different  situ- 
itions.  Among  the  hills  of  the  Green  River 
k  ountry,  Kentucky,  they  may  be  seen  streaming 
o  erhead  in  great  numbers.  An  unusual  noise 
L?  ihen  produced  in  the  air.  On  advancing  in 
th*  direction  with  them,  the  sound  grows  in 
volume,  till  it  bursts  forth  in  a  commingled 
roar  >f  notes  and  beating  wings,  which  is  ab- 
solute (y  deafening.  All  around,  for  the  space 
of  half  an  acre,  the  cracking  trees  bend  be- 
neath multiplied  thousands  of  crows,  shifting 
and  flapping  with  unceasing  movement,  every 
one  screaming  his  vociferous  "caw"  in  bois- 
terous emulation.  Resembling  a  pigeon  roost 
very  closely,  it  differs  in  this  respect,  that  by  the 
time  dark  sets  in,  the  crows  are  all  quiet,  sitting 
black  and  still,  in  heaped  masses,  as  they  are 
defined  against  the  dim  sky.  In  the  pigeon 
roost,  on  the  contrary,  the  heavy  thundering  of 
myriad  wings  rolls  on  without  ceasing,  till  just 
before  day.* 

The  vulture,  with  several  species  of  the  hawk, 


*  North  American  Review. 
17 


194  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALISE. 

are  also  inhabitants  of  the  Western  World,  the 
owl,  of  which  there  exists  a  great  variety,  and 
the  eagle.  Among  the  latter  the  white-headed 
eagle  is  especially  distinguished.  The  noble  bird 
is  renowned  for  his  strength,  his  courage,  and 
his  remarkable  powers  of  flight.  As  wintei 
advances  along  the  shore  of  the  Mississippi,  he 
may  be  seen.  Erect  on  the  summit  of  the  tallest 
tree,  adorning  the  banks  of  that  proud  stream,  his 
keen  eye  eagerly  viewing  the  expanse  around, 
sits  this  ruthless  monarch  among  birds,  the  ter- 
ror of  all  aerial  and  aquatic  wanderers.  Should 
everything  remain  tranquil,  he  is  warned  by  a 
cry  from  his  companion  to  continue  patient  for 
a  while,  to  which  the  eagle  replies  in  tones 
described  as  resembling  the  laugh  of  a  maniac 
Silently  he  watches,  regardless  of  the  insig- 
nificant teal  or  widgeon,  which  crosses  the  cur- 
rent, until  at  length  he  is  roused  by  the  sight 
of  a  swan,  her  snowy  form  moving  gracefully, 
as  she  sails  with  majestic  ease  along  the  waters. 
Then  it  is  that  the  exulting  shriek  of  the  eagle 
is  borne  over  the  stream,  striking  the  ear  of  the 
swan  with  terror,  as,  flapping  her  large  wings, 
with  out-stretched  neck  and  animated  eye,  she 
watches  the  enemy's  approach.  Darting  through 
the  air  like  a  lightning  flash,  he  bears  down 
with  resistless  destruction  on  his  despairing  prey. 
For  a  time  it  struggles,  seeks  to  dash  into  the 


THE   EAGLE   FISHEKIES.  195 

stream,  but  is  prevented,  and  speedily  forced  by 
the  eagle  to  the  earth.  Then  crushing  the  dying 
bird  beneath  his  feet,  he  drives  his  sharp  claws 
deep  into  its  breast,  and  assured  of  its  dying 
agonies,  the  ferocious  victor  again  shrieks  with 
joy.  When  in  pursuit  of  water  fowl,  which, 
the  eagles  are  aware,  have  it  in  their  power  to 
elude  their  grasp  by  diving,  exerting  the  utmost 
ingenuity,  they  combine  their  forces  for  the  cap- 
ture. On  marking  their  prey,  both  soar  to  a 
certain  height,  when  suddenly  one  sails  swiftly 
towards  the  water  bird,  which  dives  at  his  ap- 
proach. 

The  pursuer  then  rises  in  the  air  to  meet  his 
companion,  which,  in  his  turn,  flies  to  intimid- 
ate the  victim,  which  emerges  for  a  moment  to 
breathe,  but  is  forced  to  plunge  afresh.  The 
first  eagle  then  takes  the  place  of  his  successor, 
and  the  poor  bird,  thus  alternately  menaced  and 
fatigued,  makes  for  the  shore,  when  instantly 
both  eagles  settling  upon  it,  divide  it  as  their 
booty.  So  unscrupulous  is  the  rapacity  of  this 
bird,  that  it  resorts  to  the  most  revolting  ex- 
pedient to  gratify  it.  Its  daring  is  astonishing, 
and  it  succeeds  in  scaring  even  the  vulture  and 
crow.  Often  it  pursues  them,  and  becomes  pos- 
sessor of  their  loathsome  spoil.  Tradition  tells 
its  frequent  attempts  to  capture  children. 

Audubon,  though  unable  to  verify  this  fronr 


196  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

personal  experience,  does  not  doubt  its  capacity 
and  inclinction  to  do  so.  The  white-headed 
eagle,  which  seldom  frequents  the  mountainous 
districts,  preferring  the  lowlands  or  sea-shore,  is 
a  constant  resident  in  the  United  States,  and  to 
be  met  with  in  every  part.  It  is  capable  of 
existing  for  a  long  period,  even  twenty  days,  it 
is  said,  without  food.  Its  nest,  usually  placed 
on  the  tallest  trees,  is  also  found  on  rocks.  It 
manifests  a  strong  attachment  to  certain  local- 
ities. 

Audubon  expresses  his  regret  that  this  bird 
should  have  been  chosen  as  the  emblem  of  his 
country,  in  accordance  with  the  sentiment  of 
Franklin,  who,  in  one  of  his  letters,  thus  gives 
his  opinion,  "I  wish,"  he  says,  " the  white-headed 
eagle  had  not  been  selected  as  the  representative 
of  our  country.  He  is  a  bird  of  bad  moral  char- 
acter, he  does  not  get  his  living  honestly ;  you 
may  have  seen  him  perched  on  some  dead  tree, 
where,  too  lazy  to  fish  for  himself,  he  watches 
the  labour  of  the  fishing  hawk,  and  when  that 
diligent  bird  has  at  length  taken  a  fish,  and  is 
bearing  it  to  his  nest  for  the  support  of  his  mate 
and  young  ones,  the  eagle  pursues  him  and  takes 
it  from  him." 

With  all  this  injustice  he  is  never  in  good  case, 
but,  like  those  among  men  who  live  by  sharping 
and  robbing,  is  generally  poor. 


ANECDOTE.  197 

In  1831,  during  Audubon's  visit  to  the 
Floridas,  the  caracara  eagle  was  first  seen  by 
him.  Two  years  later,  he  became  the  possessor 
of  a  specimen  of  the  golden  eagle,  which  was 
purchased  by  him  from  Mr.  Greenwood,  pro- 
prietor of  the  Museum  at  Boston.  With  an 
irresistibly  amusing  naivete,  he  relates  the  cir- 
cumstance. "  The  eagle,"  he  tells  us,  "  was  im- 
mediately conveyed  to  my  place  of  residence, 
covered  by  a  blanket,  to  save  him  in  his  adver- 
sity from  the  gaze  of  the  people.  I  placed  the 
cage  so  as  to  afford  me  a  good  view  of  the  cap- 
tive, and  I  must  acknowledge  that  as  I  watched 
his  looks  of  proud  disdain,  I  did  not  feel  towards 
him  so  generously  as  I  ought  to  have  done.  At 
times,  I  was  half  inclined  to  restore  to  him  his 
freedom,  that  he  might  return  to  his  native 
mountains;  nay,  I  several  times  thought  how 
pleasant  it  would  be  to  see  him  spread  out  his 
broad  wings,  and  sail  away  towards  the  rocks 
of  his  wild  haunts ;  but  then,  some  one  seemed 
to  whisper  that  I  ought  to  take  the  portrait  of 
this  magnificent  bird,  and  I  abandoned  the  more 
generous  design  of  setting  him  at  liberty,  for  the 
express  purpose  of  showing  you  his  semblance. 

"  I  occupied  myself  a  whole  day  in  watching 
his  movements ;  on  the  next  I  came  to  a  deter- 
mination as  to  the  position  in  which  I  might 
best  represent  him ;  and  on  the  third,  thought 
17* 


198  AUDUBON"  THE  NATURALIST. 

of  bow  I  could  take  away  his  life  with  the  least 
pain  to  him.  I  consulted  several  persons  on  the 
subject,  and  among  others,  my  most  worthy 
and  generous  friend,  Dr.  George  Parkman,  who 
kindly  visited  my  family  every  day.  He  spoke 
of  suffocating  him  by  means  of  burning  charcoal, 
of  killing  him  by  electricity,  etc.,  and  we  both 
concluded  that  the  first  method  would  be  pro- 
bably the  easiest  for  ourselves,  and  the  least  pain- 
ful to  him.  Accordingly  the  bird  was  removed 
in  his  prison  to  a  very  small  room,  and  closely 
covered  with  blankets — a  pan  of  lighted  charcoal 
was  introduced,  the  windows  and  doors  fastened, 
and  the  blankets  tucked  in  beneath  the  cage  I 
waited,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear  him  fall 
down  from  his  perch;  but  after  listening  for 
hours,  I  opened  the  door,  raised  the  blankets, 
and  peeped  under  them  amidst  a  mass  of  suffo- 
cating fumes.  There  stood  the  eagle  on  his 
perch,  with  his  bright,  unflinching  eye  turned 
towards  me,  and  as  lively  and  vigorous  as  evei ! 
Instantly  reclosing  every  aperture,  I  resumed 
my  station  at  the  door,  and  towards  midnight, 
not  having  heard  the  least  noise,  I  again  took  a 
peep  at  my  victim.  He  was  still  uninjured,  al- 
though the  air  of  the  closet  was  insupportable 
to  my  son  and  myself  and  that  of  the  adjoining 
apartment  began  to  feel  unpleasant.  I  per- 
Bevered,  however,  for  ten  hours  in  all,  when, 


THE   GOLDEN   EAGLE. 


199 


finding  that  the  charcoal  fames  would  not  pro- 
duce the  desired  effect,  I  retired  to  rest,  wearied 
and  disappointed.  Early  next  morning,  I  tried 
the  charcoal  anew,  adding  to  it  a  quantity  of 
sulphur,  but  we  were  nearly  driven  from  our 
house  in  a  few  hours,  by  the  stifling  vapours, 
while  the  noble  bird  continued  to  stand  erect, 
and  look  defiance  at  us  whenever  we  approached 
his  post  of  martyrdom.  His  fierce  demeanour 
precluded  all  internal  application,  and  at  last 
I  was  compelled  to  resort  to  a  method,  always 
used  as  a  last  expedient,  and  a  most  effectual 
one.  I  thrust  a  long  pointed  piece  of  steel 
through  his  heart,  when  my  proud  prisoner  in- 
stantly fell  dead,  without  even  ruffling  a  feather. 

"I  sat  up  nearly  the  whole  of  another  night 
to  outline  him,  and  worked  so  constantly  at  the 
drawing,  that  it  nearly  cost  me  my  life.  I  was 
suddenly  seized  with  a  spasmodic  affection,  that 
much  alarmed  my  family,  and  completely  pros- 
trated me  for  some  days." 

The  golden  eagle,  which  frequents  the  shores 
of  the  Hudson  and  the  upper  parts  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi, was  also  seen  by  Audubon  over  the 
dreary  heights  of  Labrador. 

Though  it  cannot,  like  the  white-headed 
eagle,  seize  its  prey  when  on  wing,  the  keenness 
of  its  vision  enables  it  to  niark  the  desired  object 
at  a  great  distance,  and  driving  through  the  ail 


200  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

with  the  swiftness  of  a  meteor,  it  is  thus  unerring 
in  its  aim.  When  it  has  soared  high  into  the 
air,  its  evolutions  slowly  performed  in  wide  cir- 
cuits, are  most  majestic ;  "  becoming,"  says  Au- 
dubon, this  monarch  among  birds.  Its  gyrations 
are  sometimes  continued  for  hours.  The  nest 
of  this  eagle,  placed  invariably  high  on  some 
rugged  cliffs,  must  be  pillaged  at  the  risk  of  dire 
peril  to  the  invader,  an  instance  of  which  oc- 
curred during  the  revolutionary  war.  A  com- 
pany of  soldiers  were  stationed  near  the  high- 
lands of  the  Hudson  Eiver.  A  golden  eagle 
had  placed  her  nest  in  a  cleft  of  the  rocks,  mid- 
way between  the  summit  and  the  river.  One 
of  the  soldiers  was  let  down  by  his  companions, 
suspended  by  a  rope  fastened  round  his  body. 
On  reaching  the  nest,  he  found  himself  suddenly 
attacked  by  the  eagle.  In  self  defence,  he  drew 
the  only  weapon  he  had,  his  knife,  and  made 
repeated  passes  at  the  bird,  when  accidently  he 
cut  the  rope  almost  off.  It  began  to  unravel ; 
when  the  men  above  him,  hastily  drawing  him 
up,  relieved  him  from  his  perilous  position,  at 
the  moment  he  expected  to  be  precipitated  to 
the  bottom  of  the  gulf.  But  so  powerful  was 
the  effect  of  the  terror  experienced  by  the  soldier 
whilst  in  danger,  that  before  the  lapse  of  three 
days,  his  hair  became  quite  grey. 


COMPLETION  OF  AUDUBON'S  WORK.      202 


CHAPTER    XV. 

WITH  the  publication  of  the  fifth  and  last 
volume  of  Ornithological  Biographies, 
during  the  year  1839,  Audubon  had  the  hap- 
piness to  witness  the  completion  of  his  long  pur- 
sued and  dearly  cherished  plan.  It  was  the 
achievement  of  no  ordinary  ambition — the  grati- 
fication of  impatience  at  the  consummation  of 
some  light  essay.  In  it,  he  beheld  as  it  were,  the 
fulfilment  of  his  destiny — the  realization  of  con- 
stant effort  and  aspiration — the  result  of  the 
trials  of  a  life-time,  the  fruits  of  an  entire  dedi- 
cation of  all  the  faculties  of  existence  to  one 
great  and  honoured  end.  The  advancement  of 
science  was  his  vocation,  and  in  that  vocation  he 
nobly  served  as  the  worshipper  of  his  Creator 
and  the  benefactor  of  his  kind,  which  he  was, 
intellectually  and  morally.  For  to  comparatively 
few,  even  to  those  rarely  gifted,  is  it  given  to 
follow  from  the  days  of  infancy,  with  single- 
hearted  desire,  one  great  object — that  object 
demanding,  moreover,  the  entire  surrender  of 
everv  other  for  its  attainment.   Yet  to  Audul»D 


202  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

was  this  granted.  Unconsious  of  the  weakness 
of  vacillation  in  purpose  or  practice  for  one  day, 
he  pursued  unflinchingly  an  absorbing  principle 
of  action,  not  only  at  the  sacrifice  of  leisure,  ease, 
and  indulgence,  but  at  the  cost  of  danger,  depri- 
vation, and  the  most  arduous  endurance. 

The  naturalist,  compelled  to  undergo  the  pain 
of  separation,  to  wander  in  solitude,  to  suffer 
daily  toil  and  peril,  is  called  upon  pre-eminently 
to  "  live  by  faith" — to  anticipate  with  dauntless 
hope.,  compensation  in  the  future  for  temporary 
ills,  and  thus  living  in  the  exercise  of  fortitude, 
patience,  and  industry,  he  cannot  fail  to  be 
strengthened  and  ennobled. 

By  this  faith  it  was  the  happiness  of  Audubon 
to  live.  "  My  heart  was  nerved,"  he  tells  us, 
relating  the  obstacles  which  attended  his  career, 
11  and  reliance  on  that  power  on  whom  all  must 
depend,  brought  me  bright  anticipations  of  suc- 
cess." 

Sixteen  years  had  been  the  period  calculated 
upon  by  him  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  task. 
During  that  time,  with  unremitting  zeal,  he  had 
applied  himself  to  its  worthy  fulfilment.  Visions 
of  this  most  eagerly  desired  satisfaction  would 
present  themselves  to  cheer  him  on  his  laborious 
way,  while  sensibility  to  the  beauties  of  nature, 
proportioned  to  the  intensity  of  his  love,  was  the 
source  of  refreshment  and  delight.     As  the  glo 


CLOSE   OF  HIS   OAREER.  203 

rious  sun  arose,  gladdening  the  earth  with  its 
rays,  starting  to  his  feet,  invigorated  by  health* 
ful  repose,  the  naturalist  was  urged  to  the  pur- 
suits of  the  day,  by  the  delighting  prospect  of 
the  successful  termination  of  his  toils.  Fane} 
would  then  load  the  breeze  with  the  praises  of 
admirers.  Or  with  the  sweet  serenity  of  even- 
ing, the  flower-perfumed  air,  and  the  declining 
melodies  of  forest  warblers,  thoughts  of  home 
and  friends  would  arise,  awakening  the  dear 
anticipation  of  joyful  meeting. 

Incited  ever  onwards  by  pleasing  images  and 
hopes  such  as  these,  Audubon  found  himself,  he 
tells  us,  "  furnished  as  it  were  with  large  and 
powerful  wings,  when,  cleaving  the  air  like  an 
eagle,  he  would  fly  off,  and  by  a  few  joyous 
bounds  overtake  the  object  of  his  desire." 

With  no  partial  achievement  could  his  am- 
bition be  content,  for  the  ideal  of  true  genius 
through  the  slightest  detraction  is  destroyed. 
"  How  often,"  he  exclaims,  "  I  long  to  see  the 
day  on  which  my  labours  should  be  brought  tc 
an  end" — when  hope  should  be  converted  into 
assurance,  that  devotion  to  nature  so  enthusi- 
astic, so  untiring,  had  not  been  in  vain.  Thus 
incited  and  sustained,  the  wanderer  toiled  on,  till 
at  length  in  the  completion  of  his  great  work,  he 
beheld  his  rich  and  abundant  reward.  This  was 
in  the  sixty-third  year  of  his  age.     Once  more 


204  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

he  was  in  the  charmed  circle  of  his  home,  evei 
so  lovingly  remembered,  though  so  little  en- 
joyed. Exulting  in  the  satisfaction  of  his  dearest 
earthly  wishes,  he  looked  up  "  with  gratitude  to 
the  Supreme  Being,  and  felt  that  he  was  happy." 
The  devoted  student  of  nature,  he  remained  to 
the  close  of  his  career  enjoying  the  pleasures  of 
those  pursuits  from  which  he  had  derived  his 
best  delights.  Audubon  lived  to  the  age  of 
seventy-six. 

On  the  27th  of  January,  1851,  the  "  darkness 
of  death  spread  for  him  a  sable  curtain"  over  the 
scene  of  this  life,  from  which  the  great  Naturalist 
}f  America  for  ever  departed, 

The  traveller  was  at  rest 


QUADRUPEDS   OF  NORTH   AMERICA.        206 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

NOTE    AND   ADDENDA    BY   THE   AMERICAN   PUBLISHERS. 

WE  have  taken  the  liberty  of  transposing 
some  portions  of  the  foregoing  pages  from 
the  London  edition,  having  ascertained  that 
chronological  mistakes  had  been  made  by  the 
fair  authoress  in  preparing  her  interesting  sketch 
of  Audubon,  and  we  would  further  say,  that  as 
she  appears  not  to  have  been  aware  of  the  pub- 
lication of  his  second  great  work,  the  "  Quad- 
rupeds of  North  America,"  (which  has  not  been 
advertised,  we  believe,  in  Europe,)  it  has  been 
deemed  by  us  essential  to  mention  it,  and  to 
subjoin  the  following  particulars : — 

When  Audubon  had  finished  his  great  edi- 
tion of  the  "  Birds  of  America,"  and  had  also 
published  a  synopsis  of  the  species  inhabiting 
our  country,  (which  was  issued  in  Edinburgh,  in 
1839,)  leaving  the  hospitable  shores  of  Britain, 
and  parting  with  many  highly  valued  friends, 
he  embarked  for  his  native  land,  and  after  a 
tedious,  although  not  otherwise  unpleasant  voy 
18 


206  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

age,  arrived  at  New  York  in  the  month  of  Sep 
tember  of  that  year. 

Desiring  to  reproduce  his  work  on  the  Birds 
in  a  small  form,  so  as  to  place  it  within  the 
reach  of  nearly  all  who  might  wish  to  possess 
it,  an  octavo  edition  was  soon  begun,  and  this 
undertaking  proved  entirely  successful,  being 
aided  by  the  subscriptions  of  men  of  science  and 
professional  reputation,  and  by  the  patronage  of 
the  wealthy  and  liberal  merchants  and  gentle- 
men of  our  principal  cities  and  towns,  in  which 
Audubon  was  most  cordially  welcomed. 

Soon  after  this  edition  of  the  "Birds"  had 
been  commenced,  the  publication  of  the  "  Quad- 
rupeds of  North  America"  was  projected,  with 
the  advice  and  aid  of  the  Reverend  Dr.  Bach- 
man,  of  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  well  known 
for  his  zoological  researches  and  discoveries,  and 
who  had  for  some  time  been  connected  by  the 
marriage  of  two  of  his  daughters  to  Audubon's 
two  sons,  with  ties  even  stronger  than  those 
which  always  bind  congenial  and  noble  spirits 
together. 

Audubon  had,  during  his  journeyings,  and 
whilst  in  the  wilderness,  made  many  notes  of 
the  habits  of  our  quadrupeds,  as  well  as  some 
drawings  of  them,  and  was  very  soon  interested 
in  this  new  labour  in  the  cause  of  natural  his- 
tory, notwithstanding  his  advanced  age  and  the 


TRIP  TO  THE   YELLOW  STONE.  207 

difficulties  that  stood  in  the  way :  with  Irs  ex- 
perience, and  with  his  usual  energy  to  help  him, 
bending  his  mind  to  the  task  he  had  thus  taken 
up,  he  at  once  began  to  arrange  his  plans,  and 
having  decided  to  bring  out  the  work  in  a  size 
sufficient  to  give  figures  of  all  the  animala 
not  larger  than  the  raccoon,  of  their  natural 
dimensions ;  he  soon  was  deeply  engaged  in 
preparing  it. 

He  was  aided  in  this  arduous  task,  not  only 
by  Dr.  Bachman,  but  by  his  sons,  V.  G.  and 
J".  W.  Audubon,  the  former  painting  the  back- 
grounds, drawings  of  trees,  plants,  etc.,  and 
editing  the  manuscript  for  the  press,  and  the 
latter  procuring  and  drawing  some  of  the  ani- 
mals in  Texas,  California  and  elsewhere. 

Audubon  was  also  assisted  by  hosts  of  friends, 
many  of  whom  are  named  in  the  introduction 
to  the  work,  including  Sir  George  Simpson,  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  the  Chouteaus,  of 
the  American  Fur  Company,  etc.,  etc.  This 
work  involved  the  necessity  of  further  journey 
ings,  and  among  the  rest,  a  trip  to  the  Yellow 
Stone  river  and  the  spurs  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains,  which,  expedition  was  made  in  1843,  and 
was  productive,  besides  its  results  in  respect  to 
the  history  of  the  quadrupeds,  of  further  dis 
ooveries  in  ornithology,  some  twenty  new 
tpecies  of  birds  having  been  added  by  it  to  the 


208  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

octavo  edition  of  the  "  Birds  of  America,"  the 
publication  of  which  was  not  then  completed. 
The  work  on  the  quadrupeds  has  since  been  re- 
published by  V.  G.  Audubon,  in  an  octavo  form, 
to  correspond  in  size  with  the  small  edition  of 
the  Birds,  and  we  have  been  permitted  to  make 
some  extracts  from  it,  which  we  gladly  add  to 
the  foregoing  pages. 

TFE   MINK. 

Next  to  the  ermine,  the  mink  is  the  most 
active  and  destructive  little  depredator  that 
prowls  around  the  farm-yard,  or  the  farmer's 
duck-pond ;  where  the  presence  of  one  or  two  of 
these  animals  will  soon  be  made  known  by  the 
sudden  disappearance  of  sundry  young  ducks 
and  chickens.  The  vigilant  farmer  may  per- 
haps see  a  fine  fowl  moving  in  a  singular  and 
most  involuntary  manner,  in  the  clutches  of  a 
mink,  towards  a  fissure  in  a  rock  or  a  hole  in 
some  pile  of  stones,  in  the  gray  of  the  morning, 
and  should  he  rush  to  the  spot  to  ascertain  the 
fate  of  the  unfortunate  bird,  he  will  see  it  sudden- 
ly twitched  into  a  hole  too  deep  for  him  to  fathom, 
and  wish  he  had  carried  with  him  his  double- 
barreled  gun,  to  have  ended  at  once  the  life  of 
the  voracious  destroyer  of  his  carefully  tended 
poultry.     Our  friend,  the  farmer,  ia  not,  how 


THE  MINK.  209 

ever,  disposed  to  allow  the  mink  to  carry  oil  the 
Bport  long,  and  therefore  straightway  repairs  to 
the  house  for  his  gun,  and  if  it  be  loaded  and  ready 
for  use,  (as  it  always  should  be  in  every  well- 
regulated  farm-house,)  he  speedily  returns  with 
it  to  watch  for  the  reappearance  of  the  mink, 
and  shoot  him  ere  he  has  the  opportunity  to 
depopulate  his  poultry-yard.  The  farmer  now 
takes  a  stand  facing  the  retreat  into  which  the 
mink  has  carried  his  property,  and  waits  patient- 
ly until  it  may  please  him  to  show  his  head 
again.  This,  however,  the  cunning  rogue  will 
not  always  accommodate  him  by  doing,  and  he 
may  lose  much  time  to  no  purpose.  Let  us  in- 
troduce you  to  a  scene  on  our  own  little  place 
near  New  York. 

There  is  a  small  brook,  fed  by  several  springs 
of  pure  water,  which  we  have  caused  to  be  stop- 
ped by  a  stone  dam  to  make  a  pond  for  ducks 
in  the  summer  and  ice  in  the  winter ;  above  the 
pond  is  a  rough  bank  of  stones  through  which 
the  water  filters  into  tbe  pond.  There  is  a  little 
space  near  this  where  the  sand  and  gravel  have 
formed  a  diminutive  beach.  The  ducks  descend- 
ing to  the  water  are  compelled  to  pass  near  thia 
Btony  bank.  Here  a  mink  had  fixed  his  quarters 
with  certainly  a  degree  of  judgment  and  audacity 
worthy  of  high  praise,  for  no  settlement  could 
promise  to  be  more  to  his  mind.  At  early  dawD 
18*  • 


210  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

the  crowing  of  several  fine  cocks,  the  cackling 
of  many  hens  and  chickens,  and  the  paddling, 
splashing,  and  quacking  of  a  hundred  old  and 
young  ducks  would  please  his  ears;  and  by 
stealing  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  of  stones,  with 
his  body  nearly  concealed  between  two  large 
pieces  of  broken  granite,  he  could  look  around 
and  see  the  unsuspect:ng  ducks  within  a  yard 
or  two  of  his  lurking  place.  When  thus  on  the 
look  out,  dodging  his  head  backward  and  for- 
ward, he  waits  until  one  of  them  has  approached 
close  to  him,  and  then  with  a  rush  seizes  the 
bird  by  the  neck,  and  in  a  moment  disappears 
with  it  between  the  rocks.  He  has  not,  how- 
ever, escaped  unobserved,  and  like  other  rogue3 
deserves  to  be  punished  for  having  taken  what 
did  not  belong  to  him.  We  draw  near  the  spot, 
gun  in  hand,  and  after  waiting  some  time  in  vain 
for  the  appearance  of  the  mink,  we  cause  some 
young  ducks  to  be  gently  driven  down  to  the 
pond — diving  for  worms  or  food  of  various 
kinds  while  danger  so  imminent  is  near  them — 
intent  only  on  the  objects  they  are  pursuing, 
they  turn  not  a  glance  toward  the  dark  crevice 
whore  we  can  now  see  the  bright  eyes  of  the 
mink  as  he  lies  concealed.  The  unsuspecting 
birds  remind  us  of  some  of  the  young  folks  in 
that  large  pond  we  call  the  world,  where,  alas ! 
they  may  be  ir>.  greater  danger  than  our  poor 


ITS   HAUNTS  AND  HABITS.  211 

ducks  or  chickens.  Now  we  see  a  fine  hen 
descend  to  the  water;  cautiously  she  steps  on 
the  sandy  margin  and  dipping  her  bill  in  the 
clear  stream,  sips  a  few  drops  and  raises  her 
head  as  if  in  gratitude  to  the  Giver  of  all  good ; 
she  continues  sipping  and  advancing  gradually ; 
she  has  now  approached  the  fatal  rocks,  when 
with  a  sudden  rush  the  mink  has  seized  her; 
ere  he  can  regain  his  hole,  however,  our  gun's 
sharp  crack  is  heard  and  the  marauder  lies  dead 
before  us. 

"We  acknowledge  that  we  have  little  inclina- 
tion to  say  anything  in  defence  of  the  mink. 
"We  must  admit,  however,  that  although  he  is  a 
cunning  and  destructive  rogue,  his  next  door 
neighbour,  the  ermine  or  common  weasel,  goes 
infinitely  beyond  him  in  his  mischievous  pro- 
pensities. "Whilst  the  mink  is  satisfied  with 
destroying  one  or  two  fowls  at  a  time,  on  which 
he  makes  a  hearty  meal ;  the  weasel,  in  the  very 
spirit  of  wanton  destructiveness,  sometimes  in  a 
single  night  puts  to  death  every  tenant  of  the 
poultry -house ! 

Whilst  residing  at  Henderson,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Ohio  river,  we  observed  that  minks  were 
quite  abundant,  and  often  saw  them  carrying 
off  rats  which  they  caught  like  the  weasel  01 
ferret,  and  conveyed  away  in  their  mouths,  hold 
ing  them  by  the  neck  in  the  manner  of  a  cat. 


212  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

Along  the  trout  streams  of  our  Eastern  and 
Northern  States,  the  mink  has  been  known  to 
steal  fish,  that,  having  been  caught  by  some 
angler,  had  been  left  tied  together  with  a  string 
while  the  fisherman  proceeded  farther  in  quest 
of  more.  An  angler  informed  us  that  he  had 
lost  in  this  way  thirty  or  forty  fine  trout,  which 
a  mink  dragged  off  the  bank  into  the  stream  and 
devoured,  and  we  have  been  told  that  by  look- 
ing carefully  after  them,  the  minks  could  be 
seen  watching  the  fisherman,  and  in  readiness 
to  take  his  fish,  should  he  leave  it  at  any  distance 
behind  him.  Mr.  Hutson  of  Halifax  informed 
us  that  he  had  a  salmon  weighing  four  pounds 
carried  off  by  one  of  them. 

We  have  observed  that  the  mink  is  a  toler- 
ably expert  fisher.  On  one  occasion,  whilst 
seated  near  a  trout-brook  in  the  northern  part 
of  the  state  of  New  York,  we  heard  a  sudden 
splashing  in  the  stream,  and  saw  a  large  trout 
gliding  through  the  shallow  water  and  making 
for  some  overhanging  roots  on  the  side  of  the 
bank.  A  mink  was  in  close  pursuit,  and  dived 
after  it;  in  a  moment  afterwards  it  reappeared 
with  the  fish  in  its  mouth.  By  a  sudden  rush 
we  induced  it  to  drop  the  trout,  which  was  up- 
wards of  a  foot  in  length. 

We  are  disposed  to  believe,  however,  that 
fishes  are  not  the  principal  food  on  which  the 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  213 

mink  subsists.  We  have  sometimes  seen  it  feed- 
ing on  frogs  and  cray-fish.  In  the  North  era 
States  we  have  often  observed  it  with  a  "Wilson's 
meadow -mouse  in  its  mouth,  and  in  Carolina  the 
very  common  cotton-rat  furnishes  no  small  pro- 
portion of  its  food.  We  have  frequently  re- 
marked it  coursing  along  the  edges  of  the 
marshes,  and  found  that  it  was  in  search  of  this 
rat,  which  frequents  such  localities,  and  we  dis- 
covered that  it  was  not  an  unsuccessful  mouser. 
We  once  saw  a  mink  issuing  from  a  hole  in  the 
earth,  dragging  by  the  neck  a  large  Florida  rat. 

In  the  vicinity  of  Charleston,  South  Carolina, 
a  hen  house  was  one  season  robbed  several  nights 
in  succession,  the  owner  counting  a  chicken  less 
every  morning.  No  idea  could  be  formed,  how- 
ever, of  the  manner  in  which  it  was  carried  off. 
The  building  was  erected  on  posts,  and  was  se- 
curely locked,  in  addition  to  which  precaution 
a  very  vigilant  watch-dog  was  now  put  on  guard, 
being  chained  underneath  the  chicken-house. 
Still,  the  number  of  fowls  in  it  diminished 
nightly,  and  one  was  as  before  missed  every 
morning. 

We  were  at  last  requested  to  endeavour  to 
ascertain  the  cause  of  the  vexatious  and  singular 
abstraction  of  our  friend's  chickens,  and  on  a 
careful  examination  we  discovered  a  small  hole 
in  a  corner  of  the  building,  leading  to  a  cavity 


214  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

between  the  weather-boarding  and  the  sill.  On 
gently  forcing  outward  a  plank,  we  perceived 
the  bright  eyes  of  a  mink  peering  at  us  and 
shining  like  a  pair  of  diamonds.  He  had  long 
been  thus  snugly  ensconced,  and  was  enabled  to 
Bupply  himself  with  a  regular  feast  without  leav- 
ing the  house,  as  the  hole  opened  toward  the 
inside  on  the  floor.  Summary  justice  was  in- 
flicted, of  course,  on  the  concealed  robber,  and 
peace  and  security  once  more  were  restored  in 
the  precincts  of  the  chicken-yard. 

This  species  is  very  numerous  in  the  salt- 
marshes  of  the  Southern  states,  where  it  sub- 
sists principally  on  the  marsh-hen,  the  sea-side 
finch,  and  the  sharp-tailed  finch,  which,  during 
a  considerable  portion  of  the  year,  feed  on  the 
minute  shell-fish  and  aquatic  insects  left  on  the 
mud  and  oysterbanks,  on  the  subsiding  of  the 
waters.  We  have  seen  a  mink  winding  stealthily 
through  the  tall  marsh-grass,  pausing  occasion- 
ally to  take  an  observation,  and  sometimes  lying 
for  the  space  of  a  minute  flat  upon  the  mud :  at 
length  it  draws  its  hind-feet  far  forwards  under 
its  body  in  the  manner  of  a  cat,  its  back  is 
arched,  its  tail  curled,  and  it  makes  a  sudden 
spring.  The  screams  of  a  captured  marsh-hen 
succeed,  and  its  upraised  fluttering  wing  givea 
sufficient  evidence  that  it  is  about  >.o  be  trans- 


EFFECT  OF   FEAR  ON"   ANIMALS.  21> 

ferred  from  its  pleasant  haunts  in  the  marshes  to 
the  capacious  maw  of  the  hungry  mink. 

It  is  at  low  tide  that  this  animal  usually  cap- 
tures the  marsh-hen.  We  have  often  at  high 
spring  tide  observed  a  dozen  of  those  birds 
standing  on  a  small  field  of  floating  sticks  and 
matted  grasses,  gazing  stupidly  at  a  mink  seated 
not  five  feet  from  them.  No  attempt  was  made 
by  the  latter  to  capture  the  birds  that  were  now 
within  his  reach.  At  first  we  supposed  that  he 
might  have  already  been  satiated  with  food  and 
was  disposed  to  leave  the  tempting  marsh-hens 
till  his  appetite  called  for  more;  but  we  were 
after  more  mature  reflection  inclined  to  think 
that  the  high  spring  tides  which  occur,  exposing 
the  whole  marsh  to  view  and  leaving  no  place 
of  concealment,  frighten  the  mink  as  well  as  the 
marsh-hen ;  and  as  misery  sometimes  makes  us 
familiar  with  strange  associates,  so  the  mink  and 
the  marsh-hen  like  neighbour  and  brother  hold 
on  to  their  little  floating  islands  till  the  waters 
subside,  when  each  again  follows  the  instincts 
of  nature.  An  instance  of  a  similar  effect  of 
fear  on  other  animals  was  related  to  us  by  an 
old  resident  of  Carolina :  some  forty  years  ago, 
during  a  tremendous  flood  in  the  Santee  river, 
he  saw  two  or  three  deer  on  a  small  mound  not 
twenty  feet  in  diameter,  surrounded  by  a  wide 
sea  of  waters,  with  a  cougar  seated  in  the  midst 


216  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

of  them ;  both  parties,  having  seemingly  entered 
into  a  truce  at  a  time  when  their  lives  seemed 
equally  in  jeopardy,  were  apparently  disposed 
peaceably  to  await  the  falling  of  the  waters  that 
surrounded  them. 

This  species  prefers  taking  up  its  residence  en 
the  borders  of  ponds  and  along  the  banks  of 
small  streams,  rather  than  along  large  and  broad 
rivers.  It  delights  in  frequenting  the  foot  of 
rapids  and  waterfalls.  When  pursued,  it  flies 
for  shelter  to  the  water,  an  element  suited  to  its 
amphibious  habits,  or  to  some  retreat  beneath 
the  banks  of  the  stream.  It  runs  tolerably  well 
on  high  ground,  and  we  have  found  it  on  sev- 
eral occasions  no  easy  matter  to  overtake  it,  and 
when  overtaken,  we  have  learned  to  our  cost, 
that  it  was  rather  a  troublesome  customer  about 
our  feet  and  legs,  where  its  sharp  canine  teeth 
made  some  uncomfortable  indentations;  neither 
was  its  odour  as  pleasant  as  we  could  have  de- 
sired. It  is  generally  supposed  that  the  mink 
never  resorts  to  a  tree  to  avoid  pursuit;  we 
have,  however,  witnessed  one  instance  to  the 
contrary.  In  hunting  for  the  ruffed-grouse,  we 
observed  a  little  dog  that  accompanied  us,  barr- 
ing at  the  stem  of  a  young  tree,  and  on  looking 
up,  perceived  a  mink  seated  in  the  first  fork, 
about  twelve  feet  from  the  ground.  Our  friend, 
the  late  Dr.  Wright,  of  Troy,  informed  us  that 


MODE   OF   CAPTURE.  217 

whilst  lie  was  walking  on  the  border  of  a  wood, 
near  a  stream,  a  small  animal  which  he  sup- 
posed to  be  a  black  squirrel,  rushed  from  a  tuft 
of  grass,  and  ascended  a  tree.  After  gaining  a 
seat  on  a  projecting  branch,  it  peeped  down  at 
the  intruder  on  its  haunts,  when  he  shot  it,  and 
picking  it  up,  ascertained  that  it  was  a  mink. 

We  think,  however,  that  this  animal  is  not 
often  seen  to  ascend  a  tree,  and  these  are  the 
only  instances  of  its  doing  so,  which  are  known 
to  us. 

This  species  is  a  good  swimmer,  and  like  the 
musk-rat,  dives  at  the  flash  of  a  gun ;  we  have 
observed,  that  the  percussion-cap  now  in  general 
use  is  too  quick  for  its  motions,  and  that  this  in- 
vention bids  fair  greatly  to  lesson  its  numbers. 
When  shot  in  the  water,  the  body  of  the  mink, 
as  well  as  that  of  the  otter,  has  so  little  buoy- 
ancy, and  its  bones  are  so  heavy,  that  it  almost 
invariably  sinks. 

The  mink,  like  the  musk-rat  and  ermine,  does 
not  possess  much  cunning,  and  is  easily  cap- 
tured in  any  kind  of  trap ;  it  is  taken  in  steel- 
traps  and  box-traps,  but  more  generally  in  what 
are  called  dead-falls.  It  is  attracted  by  any 
kind  of  flesh,  but  we  have  usually  seen  the  traps 
baited  with  the  head  of  a  ruffed  grouse,  wild 
duck,  chicken,  jay,  or  other  bird.  The  mink  is 
exceedingly  tenacious  of  life,  and  we  have  found 
It) 


218  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

it  still  alive  under  a  dead-fall,  with  a  pole  lying 
across  its  uody  pressed  clown  by  a  weight  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  beneath  which  it  had 
been  struggling  for  nearly  twenty-four  hours. 

This  specie?,  as  well  as  the  skunk  and  the 
ermine,  emits  an  offensive  odour,  when  pro- 
voked by  men  or  dogs,  and  this  habit  is  exer- 
cised likewise  in  a  moderate  degree  whenever  it 
is  engaged  in  any  severe  struggle  with  an  ani- 
mal or  bird  or.  which  it  has  seized.  We  were 
once  attracted  by  the  peculiar  and  well  known 
plaintive  cry  of  a  hare,  in  a  marsh  on  the  side 
of  one  of  our  Southern  rice-fields,  and  our  olfac- 
tories were  at  the  same  time  regaled  with  the 
strong  fetid  odour  of  the  mink ;  we  found  it  in 
possession  of  a  large  marsh-hare,  with  which, 
from  the  appearance  of  the  trampled  grass  and 
mud,  it  had  been  engaged  in  a  fierce  struggle 
for  some  time. 

The  mink,  when  taken  young,  becomes  very 
gentle,  and  forms  a  strong  attachment  to  those 
who  fondle  it  ir.  a  state  of  domestication.  Rich- 
ardson saw  one  in  the  "  possession  of  a  Canadian 
woman,  that  parsed  the  day  in  her  pocket,  look- 
ing out  occasionally  when  its  attention  was 
roused  by  an  unusual  noise."  We  had  in  our 
possession  a  pet  of  this  kind  for  eighteen  months ; 
it  regularly  made  a  visit  to  an  adjoining  fish- 
pond both  morning  and  evening,  and  returned 


HABITS  WHEN   DOMESTICATED.  219 

to  the  house  of  its  own  accord,  where  it  con- 
tinued during  the  remainder  of  the  day.  It 
waged  war  against  the  Norway  rats  which  had 
their  domicile  in  the  dam  that  formed  the  fish* 
pond,  and  it  caught  the  frogs  which  had  taken 
possession  of  its  banks.  We  did  not  perceive 
that  it  captured  many  fish,  and  it  never  attacked 
the  poultry.  It  was  on  good  terms  with  the 
dogs  and  cats,  and  molested  no  one  unless  its 
tail  or  foot  was  accidentally  trod  upon,  when  it 
invariably  revenged  itself,  by  snapping  at  the 
foot  of  the  offender. 

It  was  rather  dull  at  mid-day,  but  very  active 
and  playful  in  the  morning  and  evening,  and  at 
night.  It  never  emitted  its  disagreeable  odour 
except  when  it  had  received  a  sudden  and  severe 
hurt.  It  was  fond  of  squatting  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  and  formed  a  particular  attachment  to  an 
arm-chair  in  our  study. 

The  skins  of  the  mink  were  formerly  an 
article  of  commerce,  and  were  used  for  making 
muffs,  tippets,,  etc.;  they  sold  for  about  fifty 
cents  each.  Richardson  states  that  they  a*  pres- 
ent are  only  taken  by  the  traders  of  the  fur  com- 
pany to  accommodate  the  Indians,  and  thai  they 
are  afterwards  burnt,  as  they  will  not  repay  the 
expense  of  carriage.  The  fur,  however,  although 
short,  is  even  finer  than  that  of  the  marten. 

A  short  time  since,  we  were  kindly  presented 


220  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

by  Charles  P.  Chouteau,  Esq.,  with  a  mink  skin 
of  a  beautiful  silver-gray  colour,  the  fur  of  which 
is  quite  different  from  the  ordinary  coat  of  the 
animal.  These  beautiful  skins  are  exceedingly 
rare,  and  six  of  them,  when  they  are  united, 
will  make  a  muff,  worth  at  least  a  hundred  dol- 
lars. A  skin,  slightly  approaching  the  fine 
quality  and  colour  of  the  one  just  mentioned, 
exists  in  the  Academy  of  Natural  Sciences  at 
Philadelphia,  but  it  is  brownish,  and  the  fur  is 
noi;  very  good. 


THE  BUFFALO.  221 


CHAPTER    XVII 


THE    BUFFALO. 


WHETHER  we  consider  this  noble  animal 
as  an  object  of  the  chase,  or  as  an  article 
of  food  for  man,  it  is  decidedly  the  most  im 
portant  of  all  our  contemporary  American  quad- 
rupeds ;  and  as  we  can  no  longer  see  the  gigan- 
tic mastodon  passing  over  the  broad  savannas, 
or  laving  his  enormous  sides  in  the  deep  rivers 
of  our  wide-spread  land,  we  will  consider  the 
buffalo  as  a  link  (perhaps  sooner  to  be  forever 
lost  than  is  generally  supposed)  which  to  a 
slight  degree  yet  connects  us  with  larger  Ameri- 
can animals,  belonging  to  extinct  creations. 

But  ere  we  endeavour  to  place  before  you  the 
living  and  the  breathing  herds  of  buffaloes,  you 
must  journey  with  us  in  imagination  to  the  vast 
western  prairies,  the  secluded  and  most  inacces- 
sible valleys  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  chain,  and 
the  arid  and  nearly  impassable  deserts  of  the 
western  table  lands  of  our  country;  and  here 
we  may  be  allowed  to  express  our  deep,  though 
19* 


222  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

unavailing  regret,  that  the  world  now  contains 
only  few  and  imperfect  remains  of  the  lost 
races,  of  which  we  have  our  sole  knowledge 
through  the  researches  and  profound  deduc 
tions  of  geologists  ;  and  even  though  our  knowl- 
edge of  the  osteology  of  the  more  recently  ex- 
terminated species  be  sufficient  to  place  them 
before  our  "  mind's  eye,"  we  have  no  description 
and  no  figures  of  the  once  living  and  moving, 
but  now  departed  possessors  of  these  woods, 
plains,  mountains  and  waters  ii  which,  ages  ago, 
they  are  supposed  to  have  dwelt.  Let  us  how- 
ever hope,  that  our  humble  efforts  may  at  least 
enable  us  to  perpetuate  a  knowledge  of  such 
species  as  the  Giver  of  all  good  has  allowed  to 
remain  with  us  to  the  present  day.  And  now 
we  will  endeavour  to  give  a  good  account  of  the 
majestic  bison. 

In  the  days  of  our  boyhood  and  youth,  buf- 
faloes roamed  over  the  small  and  beautiful  prai 
ries  of  Indiana  and  Illinois,  and  herds  of  them 
stalked  through  the  open  woods  of  Kentucky 
and  Tennessee ;  but  they  had  dwindled  down 
jo  a  few  stragglers,  which  resorted  chiefly  to  the 
"  Barrens,"  towards  the  years  1808  and  1809, 
and  soon  after  entirely  disappeared.  Their  range 
has  since  that  period  gradually  tended  westward, 
and  now  yoa  must  direct  your  steps  "  to  the  In- 
dian country,"  and  travel  many  hundred  miles 


st.  louis.  223 

beyond  the  fair  valleys  of  the  Ohio,  tew  ards  the 
great  rocky  chain  of  mountains  which  forms  the 
backbone  of  North  America,  before  you  can 
reach  the  buffalo,  and  see  him  roving  in  his 
sturdy  independence  upon  the  vast  elevated 
plains,  which  extend  to  the  base  of  the  Kocky 
Mountains. 

Ilie  with  us  then  to  the  West !  let  us  quit  the 
busy  streets  of  St.  Louis,  once  considered  the 
outpost  of  civilization,  but  now  a  flourishing 
city,  in  the  midst  of  a  fertile  and  rapidly  grow- 
ing country,  with  towns  and  villages  scattered 
for  hundreds  of  miles  beyond  it ;  let  us  leave 
the  busy  haunts  of  men,  and  on  good  horses 
take  the  course  that  will  lead  us  into  the  buf- 
falo region,  and  when  we  have  arrived  at  the 
sterile  and  extended  plains  which  we  desire 
to  reach,  we  shall  be  recompensed  for  our  toil- 
some and  tedious  journey ;  for  there  we  may 
find  thousands  of  these  noble  animals,  and  be 
enabled  to  study  their  habits,  as  they  graze  and 
ramble  over  the  prairies,  or  migrate  from  one 
range  of  country  to  another,  crossing  on  their 
route  water-courses,  or  swimming  rivers  at  places 
where  they  often  plunge  from  the  muddy  bank 
into  the  stream,  to  gain  a  sand-bar  or  shoaL 
midway  in  the  river,  that  affords  them  a  resting 
place,  from  which,  after  a  little  time,  they  can 
direct  their  course  to  the  opposite  shore,  when, 


224  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

having  reached  it,  they  must  scramble  uj  the 
bank,  ere  they  can  gain  the  open  prairie  be 
yond. 

There  we  may  also  witness  severe  combat* 
between  tht  valiant  bulls,  hear  their  angry  bel 
lowing,  anu  observe  their  sagacity,  as  well  as 
courage,  when  disturbed  by  the  approach  oi 
man. 

The  American  bison  is  much  addicted  to 
wandering,  and  the  various  herds  annually  re- 
move from  the  North  at  the  approach  of  winter, 
although  many  may  be  found,  during  that  sea- 
son, remaining  in  high  latitudes,  their  thick 
woolly  coats  enabling  them  to  resist  a  low  tem- 
perature, without  suffering  greatly.  During  a 
severe  winter,  however,  numbers  of  them  perish 
especially  the  old,  and  the  very  young  ones. 

When  the  buffalo  bull  is  working  himself  up 
to  a  belligerent  state,  he  paws  the  ground,  bel- 
lows loudly,  and  goes  through  nearly  all  the 
actions  we  may  see  performed  by  the  domesti- 
cated bull  under  similar  circumstances,  and 
finally  rushes  at  his  foe  head  foremost,  with  all 
his  speed  and  strength.  Notwithstanding  the 
violent  shock  with  which  two  bulls  thus*  meet 
in  mad  career,  these  encounters  have  never  been 
known  to  result  fatally,  probabh7  owing  to  the 
strength  of  the  spinous  process  commonly  called 


ADRIFT  ON  THE   ICE.  225 

the  hump,  the  shortness  of  their  horns,  and  the 
quantity  of  hair  about  all  their  fore  parts. 

When  congregated  together  in  fair  weather, 
calm  or  nearly  so,  the  bellowing  of  a  large  herd 
(which  sometimes  contains  a  thousand)  may  be 
heard  at  the  extraordinary  distance  of  ten  mile? 
at  least. 

In  winter,  when  the  ice  has  become  strong 
enough  to  bear  the  weight  of  many  tons,  buffa 
loes  are  often  drowned  in  great  numbers,  foi 
they  are  in  the  habit  of  crossing  rivers  on  the 
ice,  and  should  any  alarm  occur,  rush  in  a  dense 
crowd  to  one  place ;  the  ice  gives  way  beneath 
the  pressure  of  hundreds  of  these  huge  animals, 
they  are  precipitated  into  the  water,  and  if  it  is 
deep  enough  to  reach  over  their  backs,  soon 
perish.  Should  the  water,  however,  be  shallow 
they  scuffle  through  the  broken  and  breaking 
ice,  in  the  greatest  disorder,  to  the  shore. 

From  time  to  time  small  herds,  crossing  rivers 
on  the  ice  in  the  spring,  are  set  adrift  in  con- 
sequence of  the  sudden  breaking  of  the  ice  after 
a  rise  in  the  river.  They  have  been  seen  floating 
on  such  occasions  in  groups  of  three,  four,  and 
sometimes  eight  or  ten  together,  although  on 
separate  cakes  of  ice.  A  few  stragglers  have 
been  known  to  reach  the  shore  in  an  almost  ex- 
hausted state,  but  the  majority  perish  from  cold 


226  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALISr. 

and  want  of  food  rather  than  trust  themselves 
boldly  to  the  turbulent  waters. 

Buffalo  calves  are  often  drowned,  from  being 
unable  to  ascend  the  steep  banks  of  the  rivers 
across  which  they  have  just  swam,  as  the  cows 
cannot  help  them,  although  they  stand  near  the 
bank,  and  will  not  leave  them  to  their  fate  un- 
less something  alarms  them. 

When  a  large  herd  of  these  wild  animals  are 
crossing  a  river,  the  calves  or  yearlings  manage 
to  get  on  the  backs  of  the  cows,  and  are  thus 
conveyed  safely  over ;  but  when  the  heavy 
animals,  old  and  young,  reach  the  shore,  they 
sometimes  find  it  muddy  or  even  deeply  miry ; 
the  strength  of  the  old  ones  struggling  in  such 
cases  to  gain  a  solid  footing,  enables  them  to 
work  their  way  out  of  danger  in  a  wonderfully 
short  time.  Old  bulls,  indeed,  have  been  known 
to  extricate  themselves  when  they  had  got  into 
the  mire  so  deep  that  but  little  more  than  their 
heads  and  backs  could  be  seen.  On  one  occa- 
sion we  saw  an  unfortunate  cow  that  had  fallen 
into,  or  rather  sank  into  a  quicksand  only  seven 
or  eight  feet  wide ;  she  was  quite  dead,  and  we 
walked  on  her  still  fresh  carcase  safely  across 
the  ravine  which  had  buried  her  in  its  treacher- 
ous and  shifting  sands. 

The  gaits  of  the  bison  are  walking,  cantering, 
ind  galloping,  and  when  at  full  speed,  he  can 


SWTMMING  THE   RIVER.  227 

get  over  the  ground  nearly  as  fast  as  the  best 
horses  found  in  the  Indian  country.  In  lying 
down,  this  species  bends  the  forelegs  first,  and 
its  movements  are  almost  exactly  the  same  as 
those  of  the  common  cow.  It  also  rises  with  the 
same  kind  of  action  as  cattle. 

When  surprised  in  a  recumbent  posture  by 
the  sudden  approach  of  a  hunter,  who  has  suc- 
ceeded in  nearing  it  under  the  cover  of  a  hill, 
clump  of  trees  or  other  interposing  object,  the 
bison  springs  from  the  ground  and  is  in  full 
race  almost  as  quick  as  thought,  and  is  so  very 
alert,  that  one  can  scarcely  perceive  his  manner 
of  rising  on  such  occasions. 

The  captain  of  the  steamboat  on  which  we  as- 
cended the  Missouri,  informed  us,  that  on  his 
last  annual  voyage  up  that  river,  he  had  caught 
several  buffaloes,  that  were  swimming  the  river. 
The  boat  was  run  close  upon  them,  they  were 
lassoed  by  a  Spaniard,  who  happened  to  be  on 
board,  and  then  hoisted  on  the  deck,  where  they 
were  butchered  secundum  artem.  One  day  we 
aaw  several  that  had  taken  to  the  water,  and 
were  coming  towards  our  boat.  We  passed  so 
near  them,  that  we  fired  at  them,  but  did  not 
procure  a  single  one.  On  another  occasion,  one 
was  ki lied  from  the  shore,  and  brought  on  board, 
when  it  was  immediately  divided  among  the 
men.     We  were  greatly  surprised  to  see  soma 


228  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

of  the  Indians,  that  were  going  up  with  us,  ask 
for  certain  portions  of  the  entrails,  which  they 
devoured  with  the  greatest  voracity.  This  glut* 
tony  excited  our  curiosity,  and  being  always 
willing  to  ascertain  the  quality  of  any  sort  of 
meat,  we  tasted  some  of  this  sort  of  tripe,  and 
found  it  very  good,  although  at  first  its  appear- 
ance was  rather  revolting. 

The  Indians  sometimes  eat  the  carcasses  of 
buffaloes  that  have  been  drowned,  and  some  of 
those  on  board  the  Omega  one  day  asked  the 
captain  most  earnestly  to  allow  them  to  land  and 
get  at  the  bodies  of  three  buffaloes  which  we 
passed,  that  had  lodged  among  the  drift-logs  and 
were  probably  half  putrid.  In  this  extraordinary 
request  some  of  the  squaws  joined.  That,  when 
stimulated  by  the  gnawings  of  hunger,  Indians, 
or  even  whites,  should  feed  upon  carrion,  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at,  since  we  have  many  instances 
of  cannibalism  and  other  horrors,  when  men  are 
in  a  state  of  starvation,  but  these  Indians  were 
in  the  midst  of  plenty  of  wholesome  food,  and  we 
are  inclined  to  think  their  hankering  after  this 
disgusting  flesh  must  be  attributed  to  a  natural 
taste  for  it,  probably  acquired  when  young,  as 
they  are  no  doubt  sometimes  obliged,  in  their 
wanderings  over  the  prairies  in  winter,  to  devour 
carrion,  and  even  bones  and  hides,  to  preserve 
their  lives. 


BUFFALO   HUNTS.  229 

During  the  winter  of  1842  and  43,  as  we  were 
told,  buffaloes  were  abundant  around  Fort 
Union,  and  during  the  night  picked  up  strag- 
gling handfuls  of  hay  that  happened  to  be 
scattered  about  the  place.  An  attempt  was 
made  to  secure  some  of  them  alive,  by  strewing 
hay  as  a  bait,  from  the  interior  of  the  old  fort, 
which  is  about  two  hundred  yards  off.  to  some 
distance  from  the  gateway,  hoping  the  animals 
would  feed  along  into  the  enclosure.  They  ate 
the  hay  to  the  very  gate ;  but  as  the  hogs  and 
common  cattle  were  regularly  placed  there,  for 
security,  during  the  night,  the  buffaloes  would 
not  enter,  probably  on  account  of  the  various 
odours  issuing  from  the  interior.  As  the  buffa- 
loes generally  found  some  hay  scattered  around, 
they  soon  became  accustomed  to  sleep  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  fort,  but  went  off  every  morning, 
and  disappeared  behind  the  hills,  about  a  mile 
off. 

One  night  they  were  fired  at,  from  a  four 
pounder  loaded  with  musket-balls.  Three  were 
killed,  and  several  were  wounded,  but  this  dis- 
aster did  not  prevent  them  from  returning 
frequently  to  the  fort  at  night,  and  they  were 
occasionally  shot,  during  the  whole  winter,  quite 
near  the  fort. 

As  various  accounts  o*  buffalo  hunts  have 
been  already  written,  we  will  pass  over  oul 
20 


230  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

earliest  adventures  in  that  way,  which  occurred 
many  years  ago,  and  give  you  merely  a  sketch 
of  the  mode  in  which  we  killed  them  during;  our 
journey  to  the  West,  in  1843. 

One  morning  in  July,  our  party  and  several 
persons  attached  to  Fort  Union,  (for  we  were 
then  located  there,)  crossed  the  river,  landed 
opposite  the  fort,  and  passing  through  the  rich 
alluvial  belt  of  woodland  which  margins  the 
river,  were  early  on  our  way  to  the  adjacent 
prairie,  beyond  the  hills.  Our  equipment  con- 
sisted of  an  old  Jersey  wagon,  to  which  we  had 
two  horses  attached,  tandem,  driven  by  Mr. 
Culbertson,  principal  at  the  fort.  This  wagon 
carried  Mr.  Harris,  Bell,  and  ourselves,  and 
we  were  followed  by  two  carts,  which  contained 
the  rest  of  the  party,  while  behind  came  the 
running  horses  or  hunters,  led  carefully  along. 
After  crossing  the  lower  prairie,  we  ascended 
between  the  steep  banks  of  the  rugged  ravines, 
until  we  reached  the  high  undulating  plains 
above.  On  turning  to  take  a  retrospective  view, 
we  beheld  the  fort  and  a  considerable  expanse 
of  broken  and  prairie  land  behind  us,  and  the 
course  of  the  river  was  seen  as  it  wound  along, 
for  some  distance.  Resuming  our  advance  we 
Boon  saw  a  number  of  antelopes,  some  of  which 
had  young  ones  with  them.  After  travelling 
about  ten  miles  farther  we  approached  the  Fox 


THE  WOUNDED  BULL.  231 

river,  and  at  this  point  one  of  the  party  espied  a 
Email  herd  of  bisons  at  a  considerable  distance 
off.  Mr.  Culbertson,  after  searching  for  them 
with  the  telescope,  handed  it  to  us  and  showed 
us  where  they  were.  They  were  all  lying  down 
and  appeared  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  exist- 
ence of  our  party.  Our  vehicles  and  horses 
were  now  turned  towards  them  and  we  travelled 
cautiously  to  within  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
the  herd,  covered  by  a  high  ridge  of  land  which 
concealed  us  from  their  view.  The  wind  was 
favourable,  (blowing  towards  us,)  and  now  the 
hunters  threw  aside  their  coats,  tied  handker- 
chiefs around  their  heads,  looked  to  their  guns, 
mounted  their  steeds,  and  moved  slowly  and 
cautiously  towards  the  game.  The  rest  of  the 
party  crawled  carefully  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  to 
see  the  chase.  At  the  word  of  command,  given 
by  Mr.  Culbertson,  the  hunters  dashed  forward 
after  the  bulls,  which  already  began  to  run  off  in 
a  line  nearly  parallel  with  the  ridge  we  were 
upon.  The  swift  horses,  urged  on  by  their  eager 
riders  and  their  own  impetuosity,  soon  began  to 
overtake  the  affrighted  animals;  two  of  them 
separated  from  the  others  and  were  pursued  by 
Mr.  Culbertson  and  Mr.  Bell;  presently  the 
former  fired,  and  we  could  see  that  he  had 
wounded  one  of  the  bulls.  It  stopped  after 
going  a  little  way,  and  stood  with  its  head  hang- 


232  AUDUBON   THE  NATURALIST. 

ing  down  and  its  nose  near  the  ground.  The 
blood  appeared  to  be  pouring  from  its  mouth 
and  nostrils,  and  its  drooping  tail  showed  the 
agon j  of  the  poor  beast.  Yet  it  stood  firm,  and 
its  sturdy  legs  upheld  its  ponderous  body  as  if 
naught  had  happened.  We  hastened  toward  it, 
but  ere  we  approached  the  spot,  the  wounded 
animal  fell,  rolled  on  its  side,  and  expired.  It 
was  quite  dead  when  we  reached  it.  In  the 
mean  time  Mr.  Bell  had  continued  in  hot  haste 
after  the  other,  and  Mr.  Harris  and  Mr.  Squire 
had  each  selected,  and  were  following  one  of  the 
main  party.  Mr.  Bell  shot,  and  his  ball  took 
effect  in  the  buttocks  of  the  animal.  At  this 
moment  Mr.  Squire's  horse  threw  him  over  his 
head  fully  ten  feet :  he  fell  on  his  powder-horn 
and  was  severely  bruised ;  he  called  to  some  one 
to  stop  his  horse  and  was  soon  on  his  legs,  but 
felt  sick  for  a  few  moments.  Friend  Harris, 
who  was  perfectly  cool,  neared  his  bull,  shot  it 
through  the  lungs,  and  it  fell  dead  on  the  spot 
Mr.  Bell  was  still  in  pursuit  of  his  wounded 
animal,  and  Mr.  Harris  and  Mr.  Squire  joined 
and  followed  the  fourth,  which,  however,  was 
soon  out  of  sight.  We  saw  Mr.  Bell  shoot  two 
or  three  times,  and  heard  guns  fired,  either  by 
Mr.  Harris  or  Mr.  Squire,  but  the  weather  was 
so  hot  that,  fearful  of  injuring  their  horses,  they 
were  obliged  to  allow  the  bull  they  pursued  to 


A  HUNT  FOR   ANTELOPES.  233 

escape.  The  one  shot  by  Mr.  Bell,  tumbled 
upon  his  knees,  got  up  again,  and  rushed  on  one 
of  the  hunters,  who  shot  it  once  more,  when  it 
paused,  and  almost  immediately  fell  dead. 

The  flesh  of  the  buffaloes  thus  killed  was  sent 
to  the  fort  in  the  cart,  and  we  continued  our 
route  and  passed  the  night  on  the  prairie,  at  a 
spot  about  half  way  between  the  Yellow  Stone 
and  the  Missouri  rivers.  Here,  just  before  sun- 
down, seven  more  bulls  were  discovered  by  the 
hunters,  and  Mr.  Harris,  Mr.  Bell  and  Mr. 
Culbertson  each  killed  one.  In  this  part  of 
the  prairie  we  observed  several  burrows  made 
by  the  swift  fox,  but  could  not  see  any  of  those 
animals,  although  we  watched  for  some  time  in 
hopes  of  doing  so.  They  probably  scented  our 
party  and  would  not  approach.  The  hunters  on 
the  prairies,  either  from  hunger  or  because  they 
have  not  a  very  delicate  appetite,  sometimes 
break  in  the  skull  of  a  buffalo  and  eat  the  brains 
raw.  At  sunrise  we  were  all  up,  and  soon  had 
our  coffee,  after  which  a  mulatto  man  called 
Lafleur,  an  excellent  hunter  attached  to  the 
American  Fur  Company,  accompanied  Mr.  Har- 
ris and  Mr.  Bell  on  a  hunt  for  antelopes,  as 
we  wanted  no  more  buffaloes.  After  waiting 
the  return  of  the  party,  who  came  back  unsuc- 
cessful, we  broke  up  our  camp  and  turned  our 
steps  homeward. 
20* 


231      AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

The  prairies  are  in  some  places  whitened  with 
the  skulls  of  the  buffalo,  dried  and  bleached  by 
the  summer's  sun  and  the  frosts  and  snows  of 
those  severe  latitudes  in  winter.  Thousands  are 
killed  merely  for  their  tongues,  and  their  laige 
carcasses  remain,  to  feed  the  wolves  and  other 
rapacious  prowlers  on  the  grassy  wastes. 

When  these  animals  are  shot  at  a  distance  of 
fifty  or  sixty  yards,  they  rarely,  if  ever,  charge 
on  the  hunters.  Mr.  Culbertson  told  us  he 
had  killed  as  many  as  nine  bulls  from  the  same 
spot,  unseen  by  these  terrible  animals.  There 
are  times,  however,  when  they  have  been  known 
to  gore  both  horse  and  rider,  after  being  severely 
wounded,  and  have  dropped  down  dead  but  a 
few  minutes  afterwards.  There  are  indeed  in- 
stances of  bulls  receiving  many  balls  without 
being  immediately  killed,  and  we  saw  one  which 
during  one  of  our  hunts  was  shot  no  less  than 
twenty -four  times  before  it  dropped. 

A  bull  that  our  party  had  wounded  in  the 
shoulder,  and  which  was  thought  too  badly  hurt 
to  do  much  harm  to  any  one,  was  found  rather 
dangerous  when  we  approached  him,  as  he 
would  dart  forward  at  the  nearest  of  his  foes,  and 
but  that  his  wound  prevented  him  from  wheel- 
ing and  turning  rapidly,  he  would  certainly  have 
done  some  mischief.  We  fired  at  him  from  our 
six -barrelled  revolving  pistol,  which,  however, 


HUNTERS  AT  BAY.  23& 

Beerned  to  have  little  other  effect  than  to  render 
him  more  savage  and  furious.  His  appearance 
was  well  calculated  to  appal  the  bravest,  had  we 
not  felt  assured  that  his  strength  was  fast  dimin- 
ishing. We  ourselves  were  a  little  too  con- 
fident, and  narrowly  escaped  being  overtaken  by 
him  through  our  imprudence.  We  placed  our- 
selves directly  in  his  front,  and  as  he  advanced, 
fired  at  his  head  and  ran  back,  not  supposing 
that  he  could  overtake  us  ;  but  he  soon  got  with- 
in a  few  feet  of  our  rear,  with  head  lowered,  and 
every  preparation  made  for  giving  us  a  hoist ; 
the  next  instant,  however,  we  had  jumped  aside, 
and  the  animal  was  unable  to  alter  his  headlong 
course  quick  enough  to  avenge  himself  on  us. 
Mr.  Bell  now  put  a  ball  directly  through  his 
lungs,  and  with  a  gush  of  blood  from  the  mouth 
and  nostrils,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  and  gave  up 
the  ghost,  falling  (as  usual)  on  the  side,  quite 
dead. 

On  another  occasion,  when  the  same  party 
were  hunting,  near  the  end  of  the  month  of  July, 
Mr.  Squire  wounded  a  bull  twice,  but  no  blood 
flowing  from  the  mouth,  it  was  concluded  the 
wounds  were  only  in  the  flesh,  and  the  animal 
was  shot  by  Mr.  Culbertson,  Owen  McKenzie, 
and  Mr.  Squire,  again.  This  renewed  fire  only 
seemed  to  enrage  him  the  more,  and  he  made  a 
dash  at  the  hunters  so  sudden  and  unexpected, 


236  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

that  Mr.  Squire,  attempting  to  escape,  lode 
between  the  beast  and  a  ravine  which  was  near, 
when  the  bull  turned  upon  him,  his  horse 
became  frightened  and  leaped  down  the  bank, 
the  buffalo  following  him  so  closely  that  he  waa 
nearly  unhorsed;  he  lost  his  presence  of  mind 
and  dropped  his  gun ;  he,  however,  fortunately 
hung  on  by  the  mane  and  recovered  his  seat 
The  horse  was  the  fleetest,  and  saved  his  life. 
He  told  us  subsequently  that  he  had  never  been 
so  terrified  before.  This  bull  was  fired  at  several 
times  after  Squire's  adventure,  and  was  found 
to  have  twelve  balls  lodged  in  him  when  he  was 
killed.  He  was  in  very  bad  condition,  and 
being  in  the  rutting  season,  we  found  the  flesh 
too  rank  for  our  dainty  palates  and  only  took 
the  tongue  with  us. 

Soon  afterwards  we  killed  a  cow,  in  company 
with  many  bulls,  and  were  at  first  afraid  thai 
they  would  charge  upon  us,  which  in  similai 
cases  they  frequently  do,  but  our  party  was  toe 
large  and  they  did  not  venture  near,  although 
their  angry  bellowings  and  their  unwillingness 
to  leave  the  spot  showed  their  rage  at  parting 
with  her.  As  the  sun  was  now  sinking  fast 
towards  the  horizon  on  the  extended  prairie,  we 
soon  began  to  make  our  way  toward  the  camp- 
ing ground  and  passed  within  a  moderate  dis- 
tance of  a  large  herd  of  buffaloes,  which  we  did 


WOLVES  AND  BEARS.  287 

not  stop  to  molest,  but  increasing  our  speed 
reached  our  quarters  for  the  night,  just  as  the 
shadows  of  the  western  plain  indicated  that  we 
should  not  behold  the  orb  of  day  until  the 
morrow. 

Our  camp  was  near  three  conical  hills  called 
the  Mamelles,  only  about  thirty  miles  from  Fort 
Union,  although  we  had  travelled  nearly  fifty  by 
the  time  we  reached  the  spot.  After  unloading 
and  unsaddling  our  tired  beasts,  all  hands  as- 
sisted in  getting  wood  and  bringing  water,  and 
we  were  soon  quietly  enjoying  a  cup  of  coffee. 
The  time  of  refreshment  to  the  weary  hunter  is 
always  one  of  interest :  the  group  of  stalwart 
frames  stretched  in  various  attitudes  around  or 
near  the  blazing  watch-fires,  recalls  to  our  minds 
the  masterpieces  of  the  great  delineators  of  night- 
scenes  ;  and  we  have  often  at  such  times  beheld 
living  pictures,  far  surpassing  any  of  those  con- 
tained in  the  galleries  of  Europe. 

There  were  signs  of  grizzly  bears  around  us, 
and  during  the  night  we  heard  a  number  of 
wolves  howling  among  the  bushes  in  the  vicinity. 
The  service  berry  was  abundant,  and  we  ate  a 
good  many  of  them,  and  after  a  hasty  prepara- 
tion in  the  morning,  started  again  after  the 
buffaloes  we  had  seen  the  previous  evening. 
Having  rode  for  some  time,  one  of  our  party  whc 
was  in  advance  as  a  scout,  made  the  customary 


238  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

signal  from  the  top  of  a  high  hill,  that  buffaloes 
were  in  sight;  this  is  done  by  walking  the 
hunter's  horse  backward  and  forward  several 
times.  "We  hurried  on  and  found  our  scout 
lying  close  to  his  horse's  neck,  as  if  asleep  on  the 
back  of  the  animal.  He  pointed  out  where  he 
had  discovered  the  game,  but  they  had  gone  out 
of  sight,  and  (as  he  said)  were  travelling  fast,  the 
herd  being  composed  of  both  bulls  and  cows. 
The  hunters  mounted  at  once,  and  galloped  on 
in  rapid  pursuit,  while  we  followed  more  leisurely 
over  hills  and  plains  and  across  ravines  and 
broken  ground,  at  the  risk  of  our  necks.  Now 
and  then  we  could  see  the  hunters,  and  occa- 
sionally the  buffaloes,  which  had  taken  a  direc- 
tion toward  the  fort.  At  last  we  reached  an 
eminence  from  which  we  saw  the  hunters  ap- 
proaching the  buffaloes  in  order  to  begin  the 
chase  in  earnest.  It  seems  that  there  is  no 
etiquette  among  buffalo  hunters,  and  this  not 
being  understood  beforehand  by  our  friend  Har- 
ris, he  was  disappointed  in  his  wish  to  kill  a  cow. 
The  country 'was  not  as  favourable  to  the  hunters 
as  it  was  to  the  flying  herd.  The  females  sep- 
arated from  the  males,  and  the  latter  turned  in 
our  direction  and  passed  within  a  few  hundred 
yards  of  us  without  our  being  able  to  5re  at 
them.  Indeed  we  willingly  suffered  them  to 
pass  unmolested,  as  they  are  always  very  danger- 


PRAIRIE   TRAVELLING.  239 

ous  when  they  have  been  parted  from  the  cows. 
Only  one  female  was  killed  on  this  occasion. 
On  onr  way  homeward  we  made  towards  the 
coupee,  an  opening  in  the  hills,  where  we  ex- 
pected to  find  water  for  our  horses  and  mules,  as 
our  supply  of  Missouri  water  was  only  enough 
for  ourselves. 

The  water  found  on  these  prairies  is  generally 
unfit  to  drink,  (unless  as  a  matter  of  necessity,) 
and  we  most  frequently  carried  eight  or  ten 
gallons  from  the  river,  on  our  journey  through 
the  plains.  We  did  not  find  water  where  we 
expected,  and  were  obliged  to  proceed  about  two 
miles  to  the  eastward,  where  we  luckily  found  a 
puddle  sufficient  for  the  wants  of  our  horses  and 
mules.  There  was  not  a  bush  in  sight  at  this 
place,  and  we  collected  buffalo  clung  to  make  a 
fire  to  cook  with.  In  the  winter  this  prairie  fuel 
is  often  too  wet  to  burn,  and  the  hunters  and  In- 
dians have  to  eat  their  meat  raw.  It  can  how- 
ever hardly  be  new  to  our  readers  to  hear  that 
they  are  often  glad  to  get  any  thing,  either  raw 
or  cooked,  when  in  this  desolate  region. 

Some  idea  of  the  immense  number  of  bisons 
to  be  still  seen  on  the  wild  prairies,  may  be 
formed  from  the  following  account,  given  to  us 
by  Mr.  Kipp,  one  of  the  principals  of  the  Ameri- 
can Fur  Company.  "  While  he  was  travelling 
from  Travers'  Bay  to  the  Mandan  nation  in  the 


240  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

month  of  August,  in  a  cart  heavily  laden,  he 
passed  through  herds  of  buffalo  for  six  days  in 
succession.  At  another  time  he  saw  the  great 
prairie  near  Fort  Clark  on  the  Missouri  river, 
almost  blackened  by  these  animals,  which  cov- 
ered the  plain  to  the  hills  that  bounded  the 
view  in  all  directions,  and  probably  extended 
farther. 

When  the  bisons  first  see  a  person,  whether 
white  or  red,  they  trot  or  canter  -jS  forty  or  fifty 
yards,  and  then  stop  suddenly,  turn  their  heads 
and  gaze  on  their  foe  for  a  few  moments,  then 
take  a  course  and  go  off  at  full  speed  until  out 
of  sight,  and  beyond  the  scent  of  man. 

Although  large,  heavy,  and  comparatively 
clumsy,  the  bison  is  at  times  brisk  and  frolick- 
some,  and  these  huge  animals  often  play  and 
gambol  about,  kicking  their  heels  in  the  air  with 
surprising  agility,  and  throwing  their  hinder 
parts  to  the  right  and  left  alternately,  or  from 
one  side  to  the  other,  their  heels  the  while  flying 
about  and  their  tails  whisking  in  the  air.  They 
are  very  impatient  in  the  fly  and  mosquito  sea* 
son,  and  are  often  seen  kicking  and  running 
against  the  wind  to  rid  themselves  of  these  tor- 
mentors. 

The  different  Indian  tribes  hunt  the  buffalo  in 
various  ways :  some  pursue  them  on  horseback 
and  shoot  them  with  arrows,  which  they  point 


THE  WOUNDED  BUFFALO.  241 

witli  old  bits  of  iron,  or  old  knife  blades.  They 
are  rarely  expert  in  loading  or  reloading  guns, 
(even  if  they  have  them,)  but  in  the  closely  con- 
tested race  between  their  horse  and  the  animal, 
they  prefer  the  rifle  to  the  bow  and  arrow. 
Other  tribes  follow  them  with  patient  persever- 
ance on  foot,  until  they  come  within  shooting 
distance,  or  kill  them  by  stratagem. 

The  Mandan  Indians  chase  the  buffalo  in  par- 
ties of  from  twenty  to  fifty,  and  each  man  is 
provided  with  two  horses,  one  of  which  he  rides, 
and  the  other  being  trained  expressly  for  the 
chase,  is  led  to  the  place  where  the  buffaloes  are 
started.  The  hunters  are  armed  with  bows  and 
arrows,  their  quivers  containing  from  thirty  to 
fifty  arrows  according  to  the  wealth  of  the  owner. 
When  they  come  in  sight  of  their  game,  they 
quit  the  horses  on  which  they  have  ridden, 
mount  those  led  for  them,  ply  the  whip,  soon 
gain  the  flank  or  even  the  centre  of  the  herd, 
and  shoot  their  arrows  into  the  fattest,  accord- 
iug  to  their  fancy.  When  a  buffalo  has  been 
shot,  if  the  blood  flows  from  the  nose  or  mouth, 
he  is  considered  mortally  wounded ;  if  not,  they 
shoot  a  second  or  a  third  arrow  into  the  wounded 
animal. 

The  buffalo,  when  first  started  by  the  hunters, 
carries  his  tail  close  down  between  the  legs ;  but 
when  wounded,  he  switches  his  tail  about,  espe 
21  Q 


242  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

cially  if  intending  to  fight  his  pursuer,  and  it 
behooves  the  hunter  to  watch  these  movements 
closely,  as  the  horse  will  often  shy,  and  without 
due  care  the  rider  may  be  thrown,  which  when 
in  a  herd  of  buffalo  is  almost  certain  death.  An 
arrow  will  kill  a  buffalo  instantly  if  it  takes  effect 
in  the  heart,  but  if  it  does  not  reach  the  right 
spot,  a  dozen  arrows  will  not  even  arrest  one  in 
his  course,  and  of  the  wounded,  many  run  out 
of  sight  and  are  lost  to  the  hunter. 

At  times  the  wounded  bison  turns  so  quickly 
and  makes  such  a  sudden  rush  upon  the  hunter, 
that  if  the  steed  is  not  a  good  one  and  the  rider 
perfectly  cool,  they  are  overtaken,  the  horse 
gored  and  knocked  down,  and  the  hunter  thrown 
off  and  either  gored  or  trampled  to  death.  But 
if  the  horse  is  a  fleet  one,  and  the  hunter  expert, 
the  bison  is  easily  outrun  and  they  escape.  At 
best  it  may  be  said  that  this  mode  of  buffalo 
hunting  is  dangerous  sport,  and  one  requires 
both  skill  and  nerve  to  come  off  successfully. 

The  Gros  Ventres,  Blackfeet  and  Assinaboines 
often  take  the  buffalo  in  large  pens,  usually 
called  parks,  constructed  in  the  following  manner. 

Two  converging  fences  built  of  sticks,  logs  and 
brushwood  are  made,  leading  to  the  mouth  of  a 
pen  somewhat  in  the  shape  of  a  funnel.  The 
pen  itself  is  either  square  or  round,  according  to 
the  nature  of  the  ground  where  it  is  to  be  placed, 


TRAPPING  THE  BUFFALO.       243 

at  the  narrow  end  of  the  funnel,  which  is  always 
on  the  verge  of  a  sudden  break  or  precipice  in 
the  prairie  ten  or  fifteen  feet  deep,  and  is  made 
as  strong  as  possible.     When  this  trap  is  com- 
pleted, a  young  man  very  swift  of  foot  starts  at 
daylight,  provided  with  a  bison's  hide  and  head, 
to  cover  his  body  and  head  when  he  approaches 
the  herd  that  is  to  be  taken,  on  nearing  which 
he  bleats  like  a  young  buffalo  calf,  and  makes 
his  way  slowly  towards  the  mouth  of  the  con- 
vergiog  fences  leading  to  the  pen.     He  repeats 
this  cry  at  intervals,  the  buffaloes  follow  the 
decoy,  and  a  dozen  or  more  of  mounted  Indians 
at  some  distance  behind  the  herd  gallop  from  one 
side  to  the  other  on  both  their  flanks,  urging 
them  by  this  means  to  enter  the  funnel,  which 
having  done,  a  crowd  of  men,  women  and  children 
come  and  assist  in  frightening  them,  and  as  soon 
as  they  have  fairly  entered  the  road  to  the  pen 
beneath  the  precipice,  the  disguised  Indian,  still 
bleating  occasionally,  runs  to  the  edge  of  the 
precipice,  quickly  descends,  and  makes  his  escape, 
climbing  over  the  barricade  or  fence  of  the  pen 
beneath,  while  the  herd  follow  on  till  the  leader 
(probably  an  old  bull)  is  forced  to  leap  down  in- 
to the  pen,  and  is  followed  by  the  whole  herd, 
which  is  thus  ensnared,  and   easily  destroyed 
even  by  the  women  and  children,  as  there  is  no 
means  of  escape  for  them. 


244  AUDUBON   THE    NATURALIST. 

This  method  of  capturing  the  bison  is  espe- 
cially resorted  to  in  October  and  November,  aa 
the  hide  is  at  that  season  in  good  condition  and 
saleable,  and  the  meat  can  be  preserved  for  the 
winter  supply.  When  the  Indians  have  thus 
driven  a  herd  of  buffalo  into  a  pen,  the  warriors 
all  assemble  by  the  side  of  the  enclosure,  the  pipe 
is  lighted,  and  the  chiefs  smoke  to  the  honour  of 
the  Great  Spirit,  to  the  four  points  of  the  com- 
pass, and  to  the  herd  of  bisons.  As  soon  as  this 
ceremony  has  ended,  the  destruction  commences, 
guns  are  fired  and  arrows  shot  from  every  direc- 
tion at  the  devoted  animals,  and  the  whole  herd 
is  slaughtered  before  the  Indians  enter  the  space 
where  the  buffaloes  have  become  their  victims. 
Even  the  children  shoot  tiny  arrows  at  them 
when  thus  captured,  and  try  the  strength  of  their 
young  arms  upon  them. 

It  sometimes  happens,  however,  that  the  leader 
of  the  herd  becomes  alarmed  and  restless  while 
driving  to  the  precipice,  and  should  the  fence  be 
weak,  breaks  through,  and  the  whole  drove 
follow  and  escape.  It  also  sometimes  occurs, 
that  after  the  bisons  are  in  the  pen,  which  is 
often  so  filled  that  they  touch  each  other,  the 
terrified  crowd  swaying  to  and  fro,  their  weight 
against  the  fence  breaks  it  down,  and  if  the 
smallest  gap  is  made,  it  is  immediately  widened, 
when  they  dash  through  and  scamper  off,  leaving 


INDIAN  METHOD   OF  MAKING  BOATS.      245 

the  Indians  in  dismay  and  disappointment.  The 
Bide  fences  for  the  purpose  of  leading  the  buffa- 
loes to  the  pens  extend  at  times  nearly  half  a 
mile,  and  some  of  the  pens  cover  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  of  ground.  It  takes  much  timo 
and  labour  to  construct  one  of  these  great  traps 
or  snares,  as  the  Indians  sometimes  have  to  bring 
timber  from  a  considerable  distance  to  make  the 
fences  and  render  them  strong  and  efficient. 

The  bison  has  several  enemies :  the  worst  is, 
of  course,  man ;  then  comes  the  grizzly  bear ; 
and  next,  the  wolf.  The  bear  follows  them  and 
succeeds  in  destroying  a  good  many ;  the  wolf 
hunts  them  in  packs,  and  commits  great  havoc 
among  them,  especially  among  the  calves  and 
the  cows  when  calving.  Many  buffaloes  are 
killed  when  they  are  struggling  in  the  mire  on 
the  shores  of  rivers  where  they  sometimes  stick 
fast,  so  that  the  wolves  or  bears  can  attack  them 
to  advantage ;  eating  out  their  eyes  and  devour- 
ing the  unresisting  animals  by  piecemeal. 

Every  part  of  the  bison  is  useful  to  the  Indians, 
and  their  method  of  making  boats,  by  stretching 
the  raw  hide  over  a  sort  of  bowl-shaped  frame 
work,  is  well  known.  These  boats  are  generally 
made  by  the  women,  and  we  saw  one  of  them  at 
the  Mandan  village.  The  horns  are  made  into 
drinking  vessels,  ladles,  and  spoons.  The  skins 
form  a  good  bed,  or  admirable  covering  from  the 
21* 


246  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST 

cold,  and  the  flesh  is  excellent  food,  whethel 
fresh  or  dried  or  made  into  pemmican ;  the  fat 
is  reduced  and  put  up  in  bladders,  and  in  some 
cases  used  for  frying  fish,  etc. 

The  hide  of  the  buffalo  is  tanned  or  dressed 
altogether  by  the  women,  or  squaws,  and  the 
children. 

The  scrapings  of  the  skins,  we  were  informed, 
are  sometimes  boiled  with  berries,  and  make  a 
kind  of  jelly,  which  is  considered  good  food  in 
some  cases  by  the  Indians.  The  strips  cut  off 
from  the  skins  are  sewed  together  and  make 
robes  for  the  children,  or  caps,  mittens,  shoes, 
etc.  The  bones  are  pounded  fine  with  a  large 
stone  and  boiled,  the  grease  which  rises  to  the 
top  is  skimmed  off  and  put  into  bladders.  This 
is  the  favourite  and  famous  marrow  grease, 
which  is  equal  to  butter.  The  sinews  are  used 
for  stringing  their  bows,  and  are  a  substitute  for 
thread;  the  intestines  are  eaten,  the  shoulder- 
blades  made  into  hoes,  and  in  fact  (as  we  have 
already  stated)  nothing  is  lost  or  wasted,  but 
every  portion  of  the  animal,  by  tbe  skill  and  in 
dustry  of  the  Indians,  is  rende/^  uwftj 


THE   OPOSSUM.  247 


CHAPTER    XYIII. 

THE    OPOSSUM. 

HPRAVELLERS  in  unexplored  regions  are 
-*-  likely  to  find  many  unheard-of  objects  in  na- 
ture that  awaken  in  their  minds  feelings  of  wonder 
and  admiration.  We  can  imagine  to  ourselves  the 
surprise  with  which  the  opossum  was  regarded 
by  Europeans  when  they  first  saw  it.  Scarcely 
anything  was  known  of  the  marsupial  animals, 
as  New  Holland  had  not  as  yet  opened  its  un- 
rivalled stores  of  singularities  to  astonish  the 
world.  Here  was  a  strange  animal,  with  the 
head  and  ears  of  the  pig,  sometimes  hanging  on 
the  limb  of  a  tree,  and  occasionally  swinging  like 
the  monkey  by  the  tail !  Around  that  prehensile 
appendage  a  dozen  sharp-nosed,  sleek-headed 
young,  had  entwined  their  own  tails,  and  were 
sitting  on  the  mother's  back !  The  astonished 
traveller  approaches  this  extraordinary  com- 
pound of  an  animal  and  touches  it  cautiously 
with  a  stick.  Instantly  it  seems  to  be  struck 
with  some  mortal  disease :  its  eyes  close,  it  falls 


248  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

to  the  ground,  ceases  to  move,  and  appears  to  be 
dead !  He  turns  it  on  its  back,  and  perceives 
on  its  stomach  a  strange  apparently  artificial 
opening.  He  puts  his  fingers  into  the  extraor 
dinary  pocket,  and  lo !  another  brood  of  a  dozen 
or  more  young,  scarcely  larger  than  a  pea,  are 
hanging  in  clusters  on  the  teats.  In  pulling  the 
creature  about,  in  great  amazement,  he  suddenly 
receives  a  gripe  on  the  hand — the  twinkling  of 
the  half-closed  eye  and  the  breathing  of  the  crea- 
ture, evince  that  it  is  not  dead,  and  he  adds 
a  new  term  to  the  vocabulary  of  his  language, 
that  of  "  playing  'possum." 

Like  the  great  majority  of  predacious  animals, 
the  opossum  is  nocturnal  in  its  habits.  It  suits 
its  nightly  wanderings  to  the  particular  state  of 
the  weather.  On  a  bright  starlight  or  moonlight 
night,  in  autumn  or  winter,  when  the  weather 
is  warm  and  the  air  calm,  the  opossum  may 
everywhere  be  found  in  the  Southern  States, 
prowling  around  the  outskirts  of  the  plantation, 
in  old  deserted  rice  fields,  along  water  courses, 
and  on  the  edges  of  low  grounds  and  swamps ; 
but  if  the  night  should  prove  windy  or  very 
cola,  the  best-nosed  dog  can  scarcely  strike  a 
trail,  and  in  such  cases  the  hunt  for  that  night  is 
soon  abandoned. 

The  gait  of  the  opossum  is  slow,  rather  heavy, 
and  awkward :  it  is  not  a  trot  like  that  of  tha 


A   SLOW   TRAVELLER.  249 

fox,  but  an  amble  or  pace,  moving  the  two  legs 
on  one  side  at  a  time.  Its  walk  on  the  ground 
is  plantigrade,  resting  the  whole  heel  on  the 
earth.  When  pursued,  it  by  no  means  stops  at 
once  and  feigns  death,  as  has  often  been  sup- 
posed, but  goes  forward  at  a  rather  slow  speed, 
it  is  true,  but  as  fast  as  it  is  able,  never,  that  we 
are  aware  of,  increasing  it  to  a  leap  or  canter, 
but  striving  to  avoid  its  pursuers  by  sneaking 
off  to  some  thicket  or  briar  patch  ;  when,  how- 
ever, it  discovers  that  the  dog  is  in  close  pursuit, 
it  flies  for  safety  to  the  nearest  tree,  usually  a 
sapling,  and  unless  molested  does  not  ascend  to 
the  top,  but  seeks  an  easy  resting  place  in  some 
crotch  not  twenty  feet  from  the  ground,  where  it 
waits  silently  and  immcveably,  till  the  dog,  find- 
ing that  his  master  will  not  come  to  his  aid,  and 
becoming  weary  of  barking  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree,  leaves  the  opossum  to  follow  the  bent  of 
his  inclinations,  and  conclude  his  nightly  round 
in  search  of  food.  Although  a  slow  traveller, 
the  opossum,  by  keeping  perseveringly  on  foot 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  night,  hunts  over 
much  ground,  and  has  been  known  to  make  a 
circle  of  a  mile  or  two  in  one  night.  Its  ranges, 
however,  appear  to  be  restricted  or  extended  ac- 
cording to  its  necessities,  as  when  it  has  taken 
up  its  residence  near  a  corn  field,  or  a  clump  of 
ripe  persimmon  trees,  the  wants  of  nature  arc 


250  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

soon  satisfied,  and  it  early  and  slowly  carries  ita 
fat  and  heavy  body  to  its  quiet  home,  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  the  night  and  the  succeeding 
day  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  quiet  rest  and  sleep. 

The  whole  structure  of  the  opossum  is  ad- 
mirably adapted  to  the  wants  of  a  sluggish 
animal.  It  possesses  strong  powers  of  smelL, 
which  aid  it  in  its  search  after  food ;  its  mouth 
is  capacious,  and  its  jaws  possessing  a  greater 
number  and  variety  of  teeth  than  any  other  of 
our  animals,  evidencing  its  omnivorous  habits ; 
its  fore-paws,  although  not  armed  with  retractile 
claws,  aid  in  seizing  its  prey  and  conveying  it  to 
the  mouth.  The  construction  of  the  hind-foot 
with  its  soft  yielding  tubercles  on  the  palms  and 
its  long  nailless  opposing  thumb,  enable  it  to  use 
these  feet  as  hands,  and  the  prehensile  tail  aids  it 
in  holding  on  to  the  limbs  of  trees  whilst  its 
body  is  swinging  in  the  air ;  in  this  manner  we 
have  observed  it  gathering  persimmons  with  ita 
mouth  and  fore-paws,  and  devouring  them  whilst 
its  head  was  downwards  and  its  body  suspended 
in  the  air,  holding  on  sometimes  with  its  hind- 
feet  and  tail,  but  often  by  the  tail  alone. 

We  have  observed  in  this  species  a  habit 
tvhich  is  not  uncommon  among  a  few  other 
ipecies  of  quadrupeds,  as  we  have  seen  it  in  the 
raccoon  and  occasionally  in  the  common  house 
log — that  of  lying  on  its  back  for  hours  in  the 


CAPTURE  OF  THE  OPOSSUM.      251 

sun,  being  apparently  dozing,  and  seeming  to 
enjoy  this  position  as  a  change.  Its  usual 
posture,  however,  when  asleep,  is  either  lying  at 
full  length  on  the  side,  or  sitting  doubled  up  with 
its  head  under  its  fore-legs,  and  its  nose  touching 
the  stomach,  in  the  manner  of  the  raccoon. 

The  opossum  cannot  be  called  a  gregarious 
animal.  During  summer,  a  brood  composing  a 
large  family  may  be  found  together,  but  when 
the  young  are  well  grown,  they  usually  separate, 
and  each  individual  shifts  for  himself;  we  have 
seldom  found  two  together  in  the  same  retreat  in 
autumn  or  winter. 

Although  not  often  seen  abroad  in  very  cold 
weather  in  winter,  this  animal  is  far  from  falling: 
into  that  state  of  torpidity  to  which  the  marmots, 
jumping  mice,  and  several  other  species  of  quad- 
rupeds are  subject.  In  the  southern  States, 
there  are  not  many  clear  nights  of  starlight  or 
moonshine  in  which  they  may  not  be  found 
roaming  about;  and  although  in  their  farthest 
northern  range  they  are  seldom  seen  when  the 
ground  is  covered  with  snow,  yet  we  recollect 
haviug  come  upon  the  track  of  one  in  snow  a 
foot  deep,  in  the  month  of  March,  in  Pennsyl- 
vania ;  we  pursued  it,  and  captured  the  opcesura 
in  its  retreat — a  hollow  tree.  It  may  be  re- 
marked, that  animals  like  the  opossum,  raccoon, 
skunk,  etc.,  that  become  very  fat  in  autumn  re 


2f)2  AUDUBON  THE  NATUKAL1ST. 

quire  but  little  food  to  support  them  through  the 
winter,  particularly  when  the  weather  is  cold. 

Hunting  the  opossum  is  a  very  favourito 
amusement  among  domestics  and  field  labourers 
on  our  southern  plantations,  of  lads  broke  loose 
from  school  in  the  holidays,  and  even  of  gentle- 
men, who  are  sometimes  more  fond  of  this  -sport 
than  of  the  less  profitable  and  more  dangerous 
and  fatiguing  one  of  hunting  the  gray  fox  by 
moonlight.  Although  we  have  never  parti- 
cipated in  an  opossum  hunt,  yet  we  have  ob- 
served that  it  afforded  much  amusement  to  the 
sable  group  that  in  the  majority  of  instances 
make  up  the  hunting  party,  and  we  have  on  two 
or  three  occasions  been  the  silent  and  gratified 
observers  of  the  preparations  that  were  going  on, 
the  anticipations  indulged  in,  and  the  excitement 
apparent  around  us. 

On  a  bright  autumnal  day,  when  the  abundant 
rice  crop  has  yielded  to  the  sickle,  and  the  maize 
has  just  been  gathered  in,  when  one  or  two 
•  slight  white  frosts  have  tinged  the  fields  and 
woods  with  a  yellowish  hue,  ripened  the  persim- 
mon, and  caused  the  acorns,  chesnuts  and  chin- 
quepins  to  rattle  down  from  the  trees  and 
strewed  them  over  the  ground,  we  hear  arrange- 
ments entered  into  for  the  hunt.  The  opossums 
have  been  living  on  the  delicacies  of  the  season, 
and  are  now  in  fine  order,  and  some  are  found 


RUSTIC  SPORTSMEN.  255 

excessively  fat;  a  double  enjoyment  is  anti- 
cipated, the  fun  of  catching  and  the  pleasure  of 
eating  this  excellent  substitute  for  roast  pig. 

"Come,  men,"  says  one,  "be  lively,  let  us 
finish  our  tasks  by  four  o'clock,  and  after  sun- 
down we  will  have  a  'possum  hunt."  "  Done,1' 
says  another,  "  and  if  an  old  coon  comes  in  the 
way  of  my  smart  dog,  Pincher,  I  be  bound  foT 
it,  he  will  shake  de  life  out  of  him."  The 
labourers  work  with  increased  alacrity,  their 
faces  are  brightened  with  anticipated  enjoyment, 
and  ever  and  anon  the  old  familiar  song  of 
"  'possum  up  the  gum  tree"  is  hummed,  whilst 
the  black  driver  can  scarcely  restrain  the  whole 
gang  from  breaking  out  into  a  loud  chorus. 

The  paraphernalia  belonging  to  this  hunt  are 
neither  showy  nor  expensive.  There  are  no 
horses  caparisoned  with  elegant  trappings — no 
costly  guns  imported  to  order — no  pack  of 
hounds  answering  to  the  echoing  horn ;  two  or 
three  curs,  half  hound  or  terriers,  each  having 
his  appropriate  name,  and  each  regarded  by  his 
owner  as  the  best  dog  on  the  plantation,  are 
whistled  up.  They  obey  the  call  with  alacrity, 
and  their  looks  and  intelligent  actions  give 
•evidence  that  they  too  are  well  aware  of  the 
pleasure  that  awaits  them.  One  of  these  humble 
rustic  sportsmen  shoulders  an  axe  and  another  a 
torch,  and  the  whole  arrangement  for  the  hunt 
22 


254  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

is  completed.  The  glaring  torch-light  is  soon 
seen  dispersing  the  shadows  of  the  forest,  and 
like  a  jack-o'-lantern,  gleaming  along  the  skirts 
of  the  distant  meadows  and  copses.  Here  are 
no  old  trails  on  which  the  cold- nosed  hound  tries 
his  nose  for  half  an  hour  to  catch  the  scent. 
The  tongues  of  the  curs  are  by  no  means  silent 
— ever  and  anon  there  is  a  sudden  start  and  an 
uproarious  outbreak:  "A  rabbit  in  a  hollow, 
wait,  boys,  till  I  twist  him  out  with  a  hickory." 
The  rabbit  is  secured  and  tied  with  a  string 
around  the  neck:  another  start,  and  the  pack 
runs  off  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  at  a  rapid  rate, 
then  double  around  the  cotton  fields  and  among 
the  ponds  in  the  pine  lands — "Call  off  your 
worthless  dog,  Jim,  my  Pincher  has  too  much 
sense  to  bother  after  a  fox."  A  loud  scream  and 
a  whistle  brings  the  pack  to  a  halt,  and  presently 
they  come  panting  to  the  call  of  the  black  hunts- 
man. After  some  scolding  and  threatening,  and 
resting  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  recover  their 
breath  and  scent,  they  are  once  more  hied  for- 
ward. Soon  a  trusty  old  dog,  by  an  occasional 
shrill  yelp,  gives  evidence  that  he  has  struck 
some  trail  in  the  swamp.  The  pack  gradually 
make  out  the  scent  on  the  edges  of  the  pond,  and 
marshes  of  the  rice  fields,  grown  up  with  willows 
and  myrtle  bushes.  At  length  the  mingled 
notes  of  shrill  and  discordant  tongues  give  evi 


'"possum  playing."  255 

dence  that  the  game  is  up.  The  race,  though 
rapid,  is  a  long  one,  through  the  deep  swamp, 
crossing  the  muddy  branch  into  the  pine  lands, 
where  the  dogs  come  to  a  halt,  unite  in  conclave, 
and  set  up  an  incessant  barking  at  the  foot  of  a 
pine.  "  A  coon,  a  coon  I  din't  I  tell  you,"  says 
Monday,  "  that  if  Pincher  come  across  a  coon, 
he  would  do  he  work  ?"  An  additional  piece  of 
split  light  wood  is  added  to  the  torch,  and  the 
coon  is  seen  doubled  up  in  the  form  of  a  hornet's 
nest  in  the  very  top  of  the  long-leaved  pine,  (P. 
palustris).  The  tree  is  without  a  branch  for 
forty  feet  or  upwards,  and  it  is  at  once  decided 
that  it  must  be  cut  down:  the  axe  is  soon  at 
work,  and  the  tree  felled.  The  glorious  battle 
that  ensues,  the  prowess  of  the  dogs,  and  the 
capture  of  the  coon,  follow  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Another  trail  is  soon  struck,  and  the  dogs  all 
open  upon  it  at  once :  in  an  instant  they  rush 
pell-mell,  with  a  loud  burst  of  mingled  tongues 
upon  some  animal  along  the  edge  of  an  old  field 
destitute  of  trees.  It  proves  to  be  an  opos 
sum,  detected  in  its  nightly  prowling  expedi 
tion.  At  first,  it  feigns  death,  and  rolling 
itself  into  a  ball,  lies  still  on  the  ground 
but  the  dogs  are  up  to  this  "  'possum  play- 
ing," and  seize  upon  it  at  once.  It  now  feels 
that  they  are  in  earnest,  and  are  not  to  be 
deceived.     It  utters  a  low  growl  or  two,  shows 


Ik: 


256      AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

no  fight,  opens  wide  its  large  mouth,  and,  with 
few  struggles,  surrenders  itself  to  its  fate.  But 
our  hunters  are  not  yet  satisfied,  either  with 
the  sport  or  the  meat :  they  have  large  families 
and  a  host  of  friends  on  the  plantation,  the 
game  is  abundant,  and  the  labour  in  procuring 
it  not  fatiguing,  so  they  once  more  hie  on  the 
dogs.  The  opossum,  by  its  slow  gait  and 
heavy  tread,  leaves  its  footprints  and  scent 
behind  it  on  the  soft  mud  and  damp  grass. 
Another  is  soon  started,  and  hastens  up  the 
first  small  gum,  oak,  or  persimmon  tree  within 
its  reach;  it  has  clambered  up  to  the  highest 
limb,  and  sits  crouching  up  with  eyes  closed  to 
avoid  the  light.  "  Off  jacket,  Jim,  and  shake 
him  down;  show  that  you  know  more  about 
'possum  than  your  good-for-nutten  fox-dog." 
As  the  fellow  ascends,  the  animal  continues 
mounting  higher  to  get  beyond  his  reach ;  still 
he  continues  in  pursuit,  until  the  affrighted 
opossum  has  reached  the  farthest  twig  on  the 
extreme  branches  of  the  tree.  The  negro  now 
commences  shaking  the  tall  pliant  tree  top; 
while,  with  its  hind  hands  rendered  convenient 
and  flexible  by  its  opposing  thumb,  and  with 
its  prehensive  tail,  the  opossum  holds  on  with 
great  tenacity.  But  it  cannot  long  resist  the 
rapidly  accumulating  jerks  and  shocks:  sud- 
denly the  feet  slip  from  the  smooth,  tiny  Jirab 


THE  RED   FOX.  257 

and  it  hangs  suspended  for  a  few  moments  only 
by  its  tail,  in  the  meantime  trying  to  regain  its 
hold  with  its  hind  hands :  but  another  sudden 
jerk  breaks  the  twig,  and  down  comes  the  poor 
animal,  doubled  up  like  a  ball,  into  the  opened 
aws  of  eager  and  relentless  canine  foes ;  the 
poor  creature  drops,  and  yields  to  fate  with- 
out a  struggle. 

In  this  manner  half-a-dozen  or  more  opos- 
sums are  sometimes  captured  before  midnight. 
The  subsequent  boasts  about  the  superior  noses, 
speed,  and  courage  of  the  several  dogs  that  com- 
posed this  small  motley  pack — the  fat  feast  that 
succeeded  on  the  following  evening,  prolonged 
beyond  the  hour  of  midnight,  the  boisterous 
laugh  and  the  merry  song,  we  leave  to  be 
detailed  by  others,  although  we  confess  we 
have  not  been  uninterested  spectators  of  such 
scenes. 

"Let  not  ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure, 
Nor  grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  simple  pleasures  of  the  humble  poor." 

The  habit  of  feigning  death  to  deceive  an 
enemy  is  common  to  several  species  of  quad- 
rupeds, and  we  on  several  occasions  witnessed 
it  in  our  common  red  fox.  But  it  is  more 
strikingly  exhibited  in  the  opossum  than  in 
22*  R 


258  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

any  other  animal  with  which  we  are  acquaint 
ed.  When  it  is  shaken  from  a  tree  and  falls 
among  grass  and  shrubbery,  or  when  detected 
in  such  situations,  it  doubles  itself  into  a  heap 
and  feigns  death  so  artfully,  that* we  have 
known  some  schoolboys  carrying  home  for 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  an  individual  of  this 
species,  stating  that  when  they  first  saw  it,  it 
was  running  on  the  ground,  and  they  could  not 
tell  what  had  killed  it.  We  would  not,  how- 
ever, advise  that  the  hand  should  on  such 
occasions  be  suffered  to  come  too  familiarly 
in  contact  with  the  mouth,  lest  the  too  curi- 
ous meddler  should  on  a  sudden  be  startled 
with  an  unexpected  and  unwelcome  gripe. 

The  opossum  is  easily  domesticated  when 
captured  young.  We  have,  in  endeavouring  to 
investigate  one  of  the  very  extraordinary  char- 
acteristics of  this  species,  preserved  a  consider- 
able number  in  confinement,  and  our  experi- 
ments were  continued  through  a  succession  of 
years.  Their  nocturnal  habits  were  in  a  con- 
siderable degree  relinquished,  and  they  followed 
the  servants  about  the  premises,  becoming 
troublesome  by  their  familiarity  and  their 
mischievous  habits.  They  associated  familiarly 
with  a  dog  on  the  premises,  which  seemed  to 
regard  them  as  necessary  appendages  of  the 
motley  group  that  constituted   the    family  of 


VAGRANT  ANIMALS. 


259 


brutes  in  the  yard.  They  devoured  all  kinds 
of  food:  vegetables,  boiled  rice,  hominy,  meat 
both  raw  and  boiled,  and  the  scraps  thrown 
from  the  kitchen ;  giving  the  preference  to 
those  that  contained  any  fatty  substance. 

On  one  occasion  a  brood  of  young  with  their 
mother  made  their  escape,  concealed  themselves 
under  a  stable,  and  became  partially  wild ;  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  coming  out  at  night,  and 
eating  scraps  of  food,  but  we  never  discovered 
that  they  committed  any  depredations  on  the 
poultry  or  pigeons.  They  appeared,  however, 
to  have  effectually  driven  off  the  rats,  as  daring 
the  whole  time  they  were  occupants  of  the  sta- 
ble we  did  not  observe  a  single  rat  on  the  prem- 
ises. It  was  ascertained  that  they  were  in 
the  habit  of  clambering  over  fences  and  visiting 
the  neighbouring  lots  and  gardens,  and  we 
occasionally  found  that  we  had  repurchased 
one  of  our  own  vagrant  animals.  They 
usually,  however,  returned  towards  daylight 
to  their  snug  retreat,  and  we  believe  would 
have  continued  in  the  neighbourhood  and 
multiplied  the  species,  had  they  not  in  their 
nightly  prowlings  been  detected  and  destroyed 
by  the  neighbouring  dogs. 


260  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


THE    BEAVER. 


HPHE  sagacity  and  instinct  of  the  beaver  have 
-*-  from  time  immemorial  been  the  subject  of 
admiration  and  wonder.  The  early  writers  on 
both  continents  have  represented  it  as  a  ra- 
tional, intelligent,  and  moral  being,  requiring 
but  the  faculty  of  speech  to  raise  it  almost  to 
an  equality,  in  some  respects,  with  our  own 
species.  There  is  in  the  composition  of  every 
man,  whatever  may  be  his  pride  in  his  philoso- 
phy, a  proneness  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  to 
superstition l  or  at  least  credulity.  The  world 
is  at  best  but  slow  to  be  enlightened,  and  the 
trammels  thrown  around  us  by  the  tales  of  the 
nursery  are  not  easily  shaken  off.  Travellers 
into  the  northern  parts  of  Europe  who  wrote 
marvellous  accounts  of  the  habits  of  the  beavers 
in  northern  Europe,  seem  to  have  worked  on 
the  imaginations  and  confused  the  intellects  of 
the  early  explorers  of  our  northern  regions. 
Thev  excited  the  enthusiasm  of  Buffon,  whose 


HABITS   OF  THE   BEAVER.  261 

romantic  stories  have  so  fastened  themselves 
on  the  mind  of  childhood,  and  have  been  so 
generally  made  a  part  of  onr  education,  that 
we  now  are  almost  led  to  regret  that  three- 
fourths  of  the  old  accounts  of  this  extraordinaiy 
animal  are  fabulous ;,  and  that,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  its  very  peculiar  mode  of  constructing 
its  domicile,  the  beaver  is  in  point  of  intelli- 
gence and  cunning  greatly  exceeded  by  the 
fox,  and  is  but  a  few  grades  higher  in  the 
scale  of  sagacity  than  the  common  musk-rat. 

The  following  account  was  noted  down  by 
us  as  related  by  a  trapper  named  Prevost,  who 
had  been  in  the  service  of  the  American  Fur 
Company  for  upwards  of  twenty  years,  in  the 
region  adjoining  the  spurs  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, and  who  was  the  "  Patroon"  that  con- 
veyed us  down  the  Missouri  river  in  the  sum- 
mer and  autumn  of  1843.  As  it  confirms  the 
statements  of  Hearne,  Richardson,  and  other 
close  observers  of  the  habits  of  the  beaver,  we 
trust  that,  although  it  may  present  little  that  is 
novel,  it  will,  from  its  truth,  be  acceptable  and 
interesting  to  our  readers.  Mr.  Prevost  states 
in  substance  as  follows : 

Beavers  prefer  small,  clear  water  rivers,  and 
creeks,  and  likewise  resort  to  large  springs 
They,  however,  at  times,  frequent  great  rivers 
and  lakes.     The  trappers  believe  that  they  can 


262  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

have  notice  of  the  approach  of  winter  weather, 
and  of  its  probable  severity,  by  observing  the 
preparations  made  by  the  beavers  to  meet  its 
rigours ;  as  these  animals  always  cut  their  wood 
in  good  season,  and  if  this  be  done  early,  winter 
is  at  hand. 

The  beaver  dams,  where  the  animal  is  at  all 
abundant,  are  built  across  the  streams  to  their 
very  head  waters.  Usually  these  dams  are 
formed  of  mud,  mosses,  small  stones,  and 
branches  of  trees  cut  about  three  feet  in  length 
and  from  seven  to  twelve  inches  round.  The 
bark  of  the  trees  in  all  cases  being  taken  off 
for  winter  provender,  before  the  sticks  are  car- 
ried away  to  make  up  the  dam.  The  largest 
tree  cut  by  the  beaver,  seen  by  Prevost,  meas- 
ured eighteen  inches  in  diameter ;  but  so  large 
a  trunk  is  very  rarely  cut  down  by  this  animal. 
In  the  instance  just  mentioned,  the  branches 
only  were  used,  the  trunk  not  having  been 
appropriated  to  the  repairs  of  the  dam  or 
aught  else  by  the  beavers. 

In  constructing  the  dams,  the  sticks,  mud, 
and  moss  are  matted  and  interlaced  together 
in  the  firmest  and  most  compact  manner;  so 
much  so,  that  even  men  cannot  destroy  them 
without  a  great  deal  of  labour.  The  mud  and 
moss  at  the  bottom  are  rooted  up  with  the 
animal's  snout,  somewhat  in  the  manner  hogs 


REPAIRING  THE  DAM.  263 

work  in  the  earth,  and  clay  and  grasses  are 
stuffed  and  plastered  in  between  the  sticks, 
roots,  and  branches,  in  so  workmanlike  a  way 
as  to  render  the  structure  quite  water-tight. 
The  dams  are  sometimes  seven  or  eight  feet 
high,  and  are  from  ten  to  twelve  feet  wide  at 
the  bottom,  but  are  built  up  with  the  sides 
inclining  towards  each  other,  so  as  to  fori  a  a 
narrow  surface  on  the  top.  They  are  occa- 
sionally as  much  as  three  hundred  yards  in 
length,  and  often  extend  beyond  the  bed  of 
the  stream,  in  a  circular  form,  so  as  to  over- 
flow all  the  timber  near  the  margin,  which  the 
beavers  cut  down  for  food  during  winter,  heap 
together  in  large  quantities,  and  so  fasten  to  the 
shore  under  the  surface  of  the  water,  that  even 
a  strong  current  cannot  tear  it  away ;  although 
they  generally  place  it  in  such  a  position  that 
the  current  does  not  pass  over  it.  These  piles 
or  heaps  of  wood  are  placed  in  front  of  the 
lodges,  and  when  the  animal  wishes  to  feed,  he 
proceeds  to  them,  takes  a  piece  of  wood,  and 
drags  it  to  one  of  the  small  holes  near  the 
principal  entrance  running  above  the  water, 
although  beneath  the  surface  of  the  ground. 
Here  the  bark  is  devoured  at  leisure,  and  the 
wood  is  afterwards  thrust  out,  or  used  in  re- 
pairing the  dam.  These  small  galleries  are 
more  or  less  abundant  according  to  the  num 


264  AUDUBON  THE  NATUKALIST. 

ber  of  animals  in  the  lodges.  The  Iargei 
lodges  are,  in  the  interior,  about  seven  feet 
in  diameter,  and  between  two  and  three  feet 
kigh,  resembling  a  great  oven.  They  are 
placed  near  the  edge  of  the  water,  although 
actually  built  on  or  in  the  ground.  In  front, 
the  beavers  scratch  away  the  mud  to  secure 
a  depth  of  water  that  will  enable  them  to 
sink  their  wood  deep  enough  to  prevent  its 
being  impacted  in  the  ice  when  the  dam  is 
frozen  over,  and  also  to  allow  them  alwavs 
free  egress  from  their  lodges,  so  that  they 
may  go  to  the  dam  and  repair  it  if  neces- 
sary. The  top  of  the  lodge  is  formed  by 
placing  branches  of  trees  matted  with  mud, 
grasses,  moss,  etc.,  together,  until  the  whole 
fabric  measures  on  the  outside  from  twelve 
to  twenty  feet  in  diameter,  and  is  six  or 
eight  feet  high,  the  size  depending  on  the 
number  of  inhabitants.  The  outward  coating 
is  entirely  of  mud  or  earth,  and  smoothed  on* 
as  if  plastered  with  a  trowel.  As  beavers, 
however,  never  work  in  the  day-time,  no  per- 
son, we  believe,  has  yet  seen  how  they  perform 
their  task,  or  give  this  hard-finish  to  their 
houses.  This  species  does  not  use  its  fore-feet 
in  swimming,  but  for  carrying  burdens:  this 
can  be  observed  by  watching  the  young  ones, 
which  suffer  their  fore-feet  to  drag  by  the  side 


CUTTING   DOWN  TREES.  265 

of  the  body,  using  only  the  hind-feet  to  propel 
themselves  through  the  water.  Before  diving, 
the  beaver  gives  a  smart  slap  with  its  tail  on 
the  water,  making  a  noise  that  may  be  heard 
a  considerable  distance,  but  in  swimming,  the 
tail  is  not  seen  to  work,  the  animal  being 
entirely  submerged  except  the  nose  and  part 
of  the  head ;  it  swims  fast  and  well,  but  with 
nothing  like  the  speed  of  the  otter. 

The  beavers  cut  a  broad  ditch  all  around 
their  lodge,  so  deep  that  it  cannot  freeze  to 
the  bottom,  and  into  this  ditch  they  make 
the  holes  already  spoken  of,  through  which 
they  go  in  and  out  and  bring  their  food. 
The  beds  of  these  singular  animals  are  sepax- 
ated  slightly  from  each  other,  and  are  placed 
around  the  wall  or  circumference  of  the  in- 
terior of  the  lodge ;  they  are  formed  mereiy 
of  a  few  grasses,  or  the  tender  bark  of  trees : 
the  space  in  the  centre  of  the  lodge  being 
left  unoccupied.  The  beavers  usually  go  to 
the  dam  every  evening  to  see  if  repairs  are 
needed. 

They  rarely  travel  by  land,  unless  their  dams 
have  been  carried  away  by  the  ice,  and  even 
then  they  take  the  beds  of  the  rivers  or  streams 
for  their  roadway.  In  cutting  down  trees  they 
are  not  always  so  fortunate  as  to  have  them  fall 
into  the  water,  or  even  towards  it,  as  the  trunks 
23 


266  AUDUBON  THE  NATUKAL1ST. 

of  trees  cut  down  by  these  animals  are  observed 
lying  in  various  positions ;  although  as  most 
trees  on  the  margin  of  a  stream  or  river  lean 
somewhat  towards  the  water,  or  have  their 
largest  branches  extended  over  it,  many  of 
those  cut  down  by  the  beavers  naturally  fall 
in  that  direction. 

It  is  a  curious  fact,  says  our  trapper,  that 
among  the  beavers  there  are  some  that  are 
lazy  and  will  not  work  at  all,  either  to  assist 
in  building  lodges  or  dams,  or  to  cut  down 
wood  for  their  winter  stock.  The  industrious 
ones  beat  these  idle  fellows,  and  drive  them 
away;  sometimes  cutting  off  a  part  of  their 
tail,  and  otherwise  injuring  them.  These 
"Paresseux"  are  more  easily  caught  in  traps 
than  the  others,  and  the  trapper  rarely  misses 
one  of  them.  They  only  dig  a  hole  from  the 
water,  running  obliquely  towards  the  surface 
of  the  ground  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet,  from 
which  they  emerge  when  hungry  to  obtain 
food,  returning  to  the  same  hole  with  the 
wood  they  procure,  to  eat  the  bark. 

They  never  form  dams,  and  are  sometimes 
to  the  number  of  five  or  seven  together;  all 
are  males.  It  is  not  at  all  improbable  that 
these  unfortunate  fellows  have,  as  is  the  case 
with  the  males  of  many  species  of  animals, 
been  engaged  in  fighting  with  others  of  their 


AN   EPICUREAN  DISH.  267 

3ex,  and  after  having  been  conquered  and 
driven  away  from  the  lodge,  have  become 
idlers  from  a  kind  of  necessity.  The  work 
ing  beavers,  on  the  contrary,  associate,  males^ 
females,  and  young  together. 

Beavers  are  caught,  and  found  in  good  order 
at  all  seasons  of  the  year  in  the  Kocky  Moun- 
tains; for,  in  those  regions  the  atmosphere  is 
never  warm  enough  to  injure  the  fur;  in  the 
lowlands,  however,  the  trappers  rarely  begin 
to  capture  them  before  the  first  of  September, 
and  they  relinquish  the  pursuit  about  the  last 
of  May.  This  is  understood  to  be  along  the 
Missouri,  and  the  (so  called)  Spanish  country. 

Cart wright  found  a  beaver  that  weighed  forty- 
five  pounds ;  and  we  were  assured  that  they 
have  been  caught  weighing  sixty-one  pounds 
before  being  cleaned.  The  only  portions  of 
their  flesh  that  are  considered  fine  eating,  are 
the  sides  of  the  belly,  the  rump,  the  tail,  and 
the  liver.  The  tail,  so  much  spoken  of  by  trav- 
ellers and  by  various  authors,  as  being  very  de- 
licious eating,  we  did  not  think  equalled  their 
escriptions.  It  has  nearly  the  taste  of  beef 
narrow,  but  is  rather  oily,  and  cannot  be  par- 
taken of  unless  in  a  very  moderate  quantity, 
except  by  one  whose  stomach  is  strong  enough 
to  digest  the  most  greasy  substances. 

Beavers  become  very  fat  at  the  approach  of 


268  AUDUBOX  THE  NATURALIST. 

autumn  ;  but  during  winter  they  fall  off  in  flesh, 
so  that  they  are  generally  quite  poor  by  spring, 
when  they  feed  upon  the  bark  of  roots,  and  the 
roots  of  various  aquatic  plants,  some  of  "which 
are  at  that  season  white,  tender,  and  juicy. 
During  winter,  when  the  ice  is  thick  and  strong, 
the  trappers  hunt  the  beaver  in  the  following 
manner :  a  hole  is  cut  in  the  ice  as  near  as  pos- 
sible to  the  aperture  leading  to  the  dwelling  of 
the  animal,  the  situation  of  which  is  first  ascer- 
tained ;  a  green  stick  is  placed  firmly  in  front  of 
it,  and  a  smaller  stick  on  each  side,  about  a  foot 
from  the  stick  of  green  wood ;  the  bottom  is 
then  patted  or  beaten  smooth  and  even,  and  a 
strong  stake  is  set  into  the  ground  to  hold  the 
chain  of  the  trap,  which  is  placed  within  a  few 
inches  of  the  stick  of  green  wood,  well  baited, 
and  the  beaver,  attracted  either  by  the  fresh 
bark  or  the  bait,  is  almost  always  caught. 
Although  when  captured  in  this  manner,  the 
animal  struggles,  diving  and  swimming  about  in 
its  efforts  to  escape,  it  never  cuts  off  a  foot  in  or- 
der to  obtain  its  liberty ;  probably  because  it  is 
drowned  before  it  has  had  time  to  think  of  this 
method  of  saving  itself  from  the  hunter.  When 
trapping  under  other  circumstances,  the  trap  ig 
placed  within  five  or  six  inches  of  the  shore,  and 
about  the  same  distance  below  the  surface  of  the 
water,  secured  and  baited  as  usual.     If  caught, 


GNAWING   PROPENSITIES.  269 

the  b 3a vers  fiow  and  then  cut  off  the  foot  by 
which  they  are  held,  in  order  to  make  their  es 
cape. 

The  beaver  which  we  brought  from  Boston  to 
New  York  was  fed  principally  on  potatoes  and 
apples,  which  he  contrived  to  peel  as  if  assisted 
with  a  knife,  although  his  lower  incisors  were 
his  only  substitute  for  that  useful  implement. 
While  at  this  occupation  the  animal  was  seated 
on  his  rump,  in  the  manner  of  a  ground-hog, 
marmot,  or  squirrel,  and  looked  like  a  very  large 
wood-chuck,  using  his  fore-feet,  as  squirrels  and 
marmots  are  wont  to  do. 

This  beaver  generally  slept  on  a  good  bed  of 
straw  in  his  cage,  but  one  night  having  been  taken 
out  and  placed  at  the  back  of  the  yard  in  a  place 
where  we  thought  he  would  be  secure,  we  found 
next  morning  to  our  surprise  that  he  had  gnawed 
a  large  hole  through  a  stout  pine  door  which  se- 
parated him  from  that  part  of  the  yard  nearest 
the  house,  and  had  wandered  about  until  he  fell 
into  the  space  excavated  and  walled  up  outside 
the  kitchen  window.  Here  he  was  quite  en- 
trapped, and  having  no  other  chance  of  escape 
from  this  pit,  into  which  he  had  unluckily  fallen, 
he  gnawed  away  at  the  window-sill  and  the  sash, 
on  which  his  teeth  took  such  effect  that  on  an 
examination  of  the  premises  we  found  that  a  car- 
penter and  several  dollars'  worth  of  work  were 
23* 


270      AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

needed,  to  repair  damages.  When  turned  loose 
in  the  yard  in  the  day-time  he  would  at  times 
slap  his  tail  twice  or  thrice  on  the  brick  pave- 
ment, after  which  he  elevated  this  member  from 
the  ground,  and  walked  about  in  an  extremely 
awkward  manner.  He  fell  ill  soon  after  we  had 
received  him,  and  when  killed,  was  examined  by 
Dr.  James  Trudeau,  who  found  that  he  would 
shortly  have  died  of  an  organic  disease. 

It  is  stated  by  some  authors  that  the  beaver 
feeds  on  fish.  We  doubt  whether  he  possesses 
this  habit,  as  we  on  several  occasions  placed  fish 
before  those  we  saw  in  captivity,  and  although 
they  were  not  very  choice  in  their  food,  and 
devoured  any  kind  of  vegetable,  and  even  bread, 
they  in  every  case  suffered  fish  to  remain  un- 
touched in  their  cages. 


THE    JAGUAR. 

Alike  beautiful  and  ferocious,  the  jaguar  is 
of  all  American  animals  unquestionably  the 
most  to  be  dreaded,  on  account  of  its  combined 
strength,  activity,  and  courage,  which  not  only 
give  it  a  vast  physical  power  over  other  wild 
creatures,  but  enable  it  frequently  to  destroy 
man. 

Compared  with    this    formidable   beast,    the 


THE   JAGUAR.  271 

cougar  need  hardly  be  dreaded  more  than  the 
wild  cat ;  and  the  grizzly  bear,  although  often 
quite  as  ready  to  attack  man,  is  inferior  in  swift- 
ness and  stealthy  coming.  To  the  so  much 
feared  tiger  of  the  East  he  is  equal  in  fierceness ; 
and  it  is  owing,  perhaps,  to  his  being  nocturnal 
in  his  habits  to  a  great  extent,  that  he  seldom 
issues  from  the  deep  swamps  or  the  almost  im- 
penetrable thickets  or  jungles  of  thorny  shrubs, 
vines,  and  tangled  vegetation  which  compose  the 
chaparals  of  Texas  and  Mexico,  or  the'  dense  and 
untracked  forests  of  Central  and  Southern  Ame- 
rica, to  attack  man.  From  his  haunts  in  such 
nearly  unapproachable  localities,  the  jaguar 
roams  forth  towards  the  close  of  the  day,  and 
during  the  hours  of  darkness  seizes  on  his  prey. 
During  the  whole  night  he  is  abroad,  but  is  most 
frequently  met  with  in  moonlight  and  fine  nights, 
disliking  dark  and  rainy  weather,  although  at 
the  promptings  of  hunger  he  will  draw  near  the 
camp  of  the  traveller,  or  seek  the  almost  wild 
horses  or  cattle  of  the  ranchero  even  during  day- 
light, with  the  coolest  audacity. 

The  jaguar  has  the  cunning  to  resort  to  salt- 
licks, or  the  watering-places  of  the  mustangs  and 
other  wild  animals,  where,  concealing  himself 
behind  a  bush,  or  mounting  on  to  a  low  or  slop- 
ing tree,  he  lies  in  wait  until  a  favorable  oppor« 
tunity  presents  itself  for  springing  on  his  prey 


272  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

Like  the  cougar  and  the  wild  cat,  he  seeks  foi 
the  peccary,  the  skunk,  opossum,  and  the  smaller 
rodentia;  but  is  fond  of  attacking  the  larger 
quadrupeds,  giving  the  preference  to  mustangs 
or  horses,  mules,  or  cattle.  The  colts  and  calves 
especially  afford  him  an  easy  prey,  and  form 
most  important  item  in  the  grand  result  of  his 
predatory  expeditions. 

Like  the  lion  and  tiger,  he  accomplishes  by 
stealth  or  stratagem  what  could  not  be  effected 
by  his  swiftness  of  foot,  and  does  not,  like  the 
untiring  wolf,  pursue  his  prey  with  indomitable 
perseverance  at  top  speed  for  hours  together, 
although  he  will  sneak  after  a  man  or  any  other 
prey  for  half  a  day  at  a  time,  or  hang  on  the 
skirts  of  a  party  for  a  considerable  period,  watch- 
ing for  an  opportunity  of  springing  upon  some 
person  or  animal  in  the  train. 

Col.  Hays  and  several  other  officers  of  the 
rangers,  at  the  time  J.  W.  Audubon  was  at  San 
Antonio  de  Bexar,  in  1845,  informed  him  that 
the  jaguar  was  most  frequently  found  about  the 
watering-places  of  the  mustangs,  or  wild  horses, 
and  deer.  It  has  been  seen  to  spring  upon  the 
former,  and  from  time  to  time  kills  one ;  but  it 
is  much  more  in  the  habit  of  attacking  colts 
about  six  months  old,  which  it  masters  with 
great  case.  Col.  Hays  had  killed  four  jaguars 
during  his  stay  in  Texas.     These  animals  are 


FEROCITY  OF  THE  JAGUAR.      273 

known  in  that  country  by  the  Americans  as  the 
M  leopard,"  and  by  the  Mexicans  as  the  "  Mexi- 
can tiger."  When  lying  in  wait  at  or  near  the 
watering-places  of  deer  or  horses,  this  savage 
beast  exhibits  great  patience  and  perseverance, 
remaining  for  hours  crouched  down,  with  head 
depressed,  and  still  as  death.  But  when  some 
luckless  animal  approaches,  its  eyes  seem  to 
dilate,  its  hair  bristles  up,  its  tail  is  gently  waved 
backwards  and  forwards,  and  all  its  powerful 
limbs  appear  to  quiver  with  excitement.  The 
unsuspecting  creature  draws  near  the  dangerous 
spot;  suddenly,  with  a  tremendous  leap,  the 
jaguar  pounces  on  him,  and  with  the  fury  of  an 
incarnate  fiend  fastens  upon  his  neck  with  his 
terrible  teeth,  whilst  his  formidable  claws  are 
struck  deep  into  his  back  and  flanks.  The  poor 
victim  writhes  and  plunges  with  fright  and  pain, 
and  makes  violent  efforts  to  shake  off  the  foe, 
but  in  a  few  moments  is  unable  longer  to 
struggle,  and  yields  with  a  last  despairing  cry  to 
his  fate.  The  jaguar  begins  to  devour  him  while 
yet  alive,  and  growls  and  roars  over  his  prey 
until  his  hunger  is  appeased.  When  he  has 
finished  his  meal,  he  sometimes  covers  the  re- 
mains of  the  carcass  with  sticks,  grass,  weeds,  or 
earth,  if  not  disturbed,  so  as  to  conceal  it  from 
other  predacious  animals  and  vultures,  until  he 
is  ready  for  another  banquet     The  jaguar  often 


274  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

lies  down  to  guard  his  prey,  after  devouring  as 
much  as  he  can.  On  one  occasion  a  small  party 
of  rangers  came  across  one  while  feeding  upon  a 
mustang.  The  animal  was  surrounded  by  eight 
or  ten  hungry  wolves,  which  dared  not  interfere 
or  approach  too  near  "the  presence."  The 
rangers  gave  chase  to  the  jaguar,  on  which  the 
wolves  set  up  a  howl  or  cry  like  a  pack  of 
hounds,  and  joined  in  the  hunt,  which  ended 
before  they  had  gone  many  yards,  the  jaguar 
being  shot  down  as  he  ran,  upon  which  the 
wolves  went  back  to  the  carcass  of  the  horse  and 
finished  him. 

The  jaguar  has  been  known  to  follow  a  man 
for  a  long  time.  Colonel  Hays,  whilst  alone  on 
a  scouting  expedition,  was  followed  by  one  of 
these  animals  for  a  considerable  distance.  The 
colonel,  who  was  aware  that  his  footsteps  were 
scented  by  the  animal,  having  observed  him  on 
his  trail  a  little  in  his  rear,  had  proceeded  a  good 
way,  and  thought  that  the  jaguar  had  left,  when, 
having  entered  a  thicker  part  of  the  wood,  he 
heard  a  stick  crack,  and  being  in  an  Indian 
country,  "whirled  round,"  expecting  to  face  a 
wakoe;  but  instead  of  a  red-skin,  he  saw  the 
jaguar,  about  half-crouched,  looking  "right  in 
his  eye,"  and  gently  waving  his  tail.  The 
colonel,  although  he  wished  not  to  discharge  his 
gun,  being  in  the  neighborhood  of  Indians  who 


AN  ALARM.  276 

might  hear  the  report,  now  thought  it  high  time 
to  shoot,  po  he  fired,  and  killed  him  in  his  tracks. 
"  The  skm,"  as  he  informed  us,  "  was  so  beauti- 
ful, it  was  a  pleasure  to  look  at  it." 

These  skins  are  very  highly  prized  by  the 
Mexicans,  and  also  by  the  Hangers;  they  are 
used  for  holster  coverings  and  as  saddle  cloths, 
and  form  a  superb  addition  to  the  caparison  of  a 
beautiful  horse,  the  most  important  animal  to 
the  occupants  of  the  prairies  of  Texas,  and  upon 
which  they  always  show  to  the  best  advantage. 

In  a  conversation  with  General  Houston  at 
Washington  city,  he  informed  us  that  he  had 
found  the  jaguar  east  of  the  San  Jacinto  river, 
and  abundantly  on  the  head  waters  of  some  of 
the  eastern  tributaries  of  the  Kio  Grande,  the 
Guadaloupe,  etc. 

These  animals,  said  the  general,  are  sometimes 
found  associated  to  the  number  of  two  or  more, 
together,  when  they  easily  destroy  horses  and 
other  large  quadrupeds.  On  the  head  waters  of 
the  San  Marco,  one  night,  the  general's  people 
were  aroused  by  the  snorting  of  their  horses,  but 
on  advancing  into  the  space  around  could  see 
nothing,  owing  to  the  great  darkness.  The 
horses  having  become  quiet,  the  men  returned 
to  camp  and  lay  down  to  rest  as  usual,  but  in 
the  morning  one  of  the  horses  was  found  to  have 
been  killed  and  eaten  up  entirely,  except  th« 


276      AUDUBON  THE  NATURAL HIT. 

skeleton.  The  horses  on  this  occasion  wew 
hobbled  and  picketed;  but  the  general  thinks 
the  jaguar  frequently  catches  and  destroy  wild 
ones,  as  well  as  cattle.  The  celebrated  Bowie 
caught  a  splendid  mustang  horse,  on  the  rump 
of  which  were  two  extensive  scars  made  by  the 
claws  of  a  jaguar  or  cougar.  Such  instances,  in- 
deed, are  not  very  rare. 

Capt.  J.  P.  McCown,  U.  S.  A.,  related  the 
following  anecdote  to  us : — At  a  camp  near  the 
Eio  Grande,  one  night,  in  the  thick,  low,  level 
musquit  country,  when  on  an  expedition  after 
Indians,  the  captain  had  killed  a  beef  which  was 
brought  into  camp  from  some  distance.  A  fire 
was  made,  part  of  the  beef  hanging  on  a  tree  near 
it.  The  horses  were  picketed  around,  the  men 
outside  forming  a  circular  guard.  After  some 
hours  of  the  night  had  passed,  the  captain  was 
aroused  by  the  soldier  next  him  saying,  "  Cap- 
tain, may  I  shoot  ?"  and  raising  himself  on  his 
arm,  saw  a  jaguar  close  to  the  fire,  between  him 
and  the  beef,  and  near  it,  with  one  fore  foot 
raised,  as  if  disturbed ;  it  turned  its  head  towards 
the  captain  as  he  ordered  the  soldier  not  to  fire, 
lest  he  should  hurt  some  one  on  the  other  side 
of  the  camp,  and  then,  seeming  to  know  it  was 
discovered,  but  without  exhibiting  any  sign  of 
fear,  slowly,  and  with  the  stealthy,  noiseless  pace 
and  attitude  of  a  common  cat,  sneaked  off, 


STRENGTH   OF  THE  JAGUAR.  277 

The  jaguars  we  examined  in  a  menagene  at 
Charleston  had  periodical  fits  of  bad  temper: 
:>ne  of  them  severely  bit  his  keeper,  and  was 
ready  to  give  battle  either  to  the  Asiatic  tiger 
or  the  lion,  which  were  kept  in  separate  cages. 

The  jaguar,  according  to  D'Azara,  can  easily 
drag  away  a  horse  or  an  ox;  and  should  an- 
other be  fastened  or  yoked  to  the  one  he  kills, 
the  powerful  beast  drags  both  off  together,  not- 
withstanding the  resistance  of  the  terrified  liv- 
ing one.  He  does  not  conceal  the  residue  of 
his  prey  after  feeding :  this  may  be  because  of 
the  abundance  of  animals  in  his  South  Ameri- 
can haunts.  He  hunts  in  the  stealthy  manner 
of  a  cat  after  a  rat,  and  his  leap  upon  his  prey 
is  a  very  sudden,  quick  spring:  he  does  not 
move  rapidly  when  retreating  or  running.  It 
is  said  that  if  he  finds  a  party  of  sleeping  trav- 
ellers at  night,  he  advances  into  their  midst, 
and  first  kills  the  dog,  if  there  is  one,  next  the 
negro,  and  then  the  Indian,  only  attacking  the 
Spaniard  after  he  has  made  this  selection ;  but 
generally  he  seizes  the  dog  and  the  meat,  even 
when  the  latter  is  broiling  on  the  fire,  without 
injuring  the  men,  unless  he  is  attacked  or  is 
remarkably  hungry,  or  unless  he  has  been  ac- 
customed to  eat  human  flesh,  in  which  case  he 
prefers  it  to  every  other  kind.  D'Azara  says 
very  coolly,  "  Since  I  have  been  here  the  ya« 
24 


278      AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

gouare'te's  (jaguars)  have  eaten  six  men,  two  of 
whom  were  seized  by  them  whilst  warming 
themselves  by  a  fire."  If  a  small  party  of  men 
or  a  herd  of  animals  pass  within  gunshot  of  a 
jaguar,  the  beast  attacks  the  last  one  of  them 
with  a  loud  roar. 


ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  GOAT.       279 


CHAPTER    XX. 

ROCKY  MOUNTAIN   GOAT 

T  N"  tlie  vast  ranges  of  wild  and  desolate  heights, 
-*-  alternating  with  deep  valleys  and  tremen- 
dous gorges,  well  named  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
over  and  through  which  the  adventurous  trap- 
per makes  his  way  in  pursuit  of  the  rich  fur  of 
the  beaver  or  the  hide  of  the  bison,  there  are 
scenes  which  the  soul  must  be  dull  indeed  not 
to  admire.  In  these  majestic  solitudes  all  is  on 
a  scale  to  awaken  the  sublimest  emotions  and 
fill  the  heart  with  a  consciousness  of  the  infinite 
Being  "  whose  temple  is  all  space,  whose  altar 
earth,  sea,  skies." 

Nothing,  indeed,  can  compare  with  the  sensa- 
tions induced  by  a  view  from  some  lofty  peak 
of  these  great  mountains,  for  there  the  imagina- 
tion may  wander  unfettered,  may  go  back  with- 
out a  check  through  ages  of  time  to  the  period 
when  an  Almighty  power  upheaved  the  gigantic 
masses  which  lie  on  all  sides  far  beneath  and 
around   the  beholder,  and  find  no  spot  upon 


280  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

which  to  arrest  the  eye  as  a  place  where  once 
dwelt  man  I  No  ;  we  only  know  the  Indian  as 
a  wanderer  and  we  cannot  say  here  stood  the 
strong  fortress,  the  busy  city,  or  even  the  hum- 
ble cot.  Nature  has  here  been  undisturbed  and 
unsubdued,  and  our  eyes  may  wander  all  over 
the  scene  to  the  most  distant  faint  blue  line  on 
the  horizon  which  encircles  us,  and  forget  alike 
the  noisy  clamour  of  toiling  cities  and  the  sweet 
and  smiling  quiet  of  the  well  cultivated  fields, 
where  man  has  made  a  "home"  and  dwelleth 
in  peace.  But  in  these  regions  we  may  find  the 
savage  grizzly  bear,  the  huge  bison,  the  elegant 
and  fleet  antelope,  the  large-horned  sheep  of  the 
mountains,  and  the  agile  fearless  climber  of  the 
steeps — the  Kocky  Mountain  goat. 

This  snow-white  and  beautiful  animal  appears 
to  have  been  first  described,  from  skins  shown 
to  Lewis  and  Clark,  as  "the  sheep,"  in  their 
general  description  of  the  beasts,  birds,  and 
plants  found  by  the  party  in  their  expedition. 
They  say,  "  The  sheep  is  found  in  many  places, 
but  mostly  in  the  timbered  parts  of  the  Eocky 
Mountains.  They  live  in  greater  numbers  on 
the  chain  of  mountains  forming  the  commence- 
ment of  the  woody  country  on  the  coast,  and 
passing  the  Columbia  between  the  falls  and  the 
rapids.  We  have  only  seen  the  skins  of  these 
animals,  which  the  natives  dress  with  the  wool, 


HAZARD  OF  THE  CHASE.       281 

and  the  blankets  which  thej  manufacture  from 
the  wool.  The  animal,  from  this  evidence,  ap- 
pears to  be  of  the  size  of  our  common  sheep, 
of  a  white  colour.  The  wool  is  fine  on  many 
parts  of  the  body,  but  in  length  not  equal  to 
that  of  our  domestic  sheep.  On  the  back,  and 
particularly  on  the  top  of  the  head,  this  is  in- 
termixed with  a  considerable  portion  of  long, 
straight  hairs.  From  the  Indian  account,  these 
animals  have  erect,  pointed  horns." 

The  Eocky  Mountain  goat  wanders  over  the 
most  precipitous  rocks,  and  springs  with  great 
activity  from  crag  to  crag,  feeding  on  the  plants, 
grasses,  and  mosses  of  the  mountain  sides,  and 
seldom  or  never  descends  to  the  luxuriant  val- 
leys, as  the  big  horn  does.  This  goat,  indeed, 
resembles  the  wild  goat  of  Europe,  or  the 
chamois,  in  its  habits,  and  is  very  difficult  to 
procure.  Now  and  then  the  hunter  may  ob- 
serve one  browsing  on  the  extreme  verge  of 
some  perpendicular  rock  almost  directly  above 
him,  far  beyond  gunshot,  and  entirely  out  of 
harm's  way.  At  another  time,  after  fatiguing 
and  hazardous  efforts,  the  hungry  marksman 
may  reach  a  spot  from  whence  his  rifle  will 
send  a  ball  into  the  unsuspecting  goat;  then 
slowly  he  rises  from  his  hands  and  knees,  on 
which  he  has  been  creeping,  and  the  muzzle  of 
his  heavy  gun  is  "  rested"  on  a  loose  stone,  be 
24* 


282  AUDUBON   THE   NATURALIST. 

hind  which  he  has  kept  his  movements  from 
being  observed,  and  now  he  pulls  the  fatal  trig- 
ger with  deadly  aim.  The  loud,  sharp  crack 
of  the  rifle  has  hardly  rung  back  in  his  ear 
from  the  surrounding  cliffs  when  he  sees  the 
goat,  in  its  expiring  struggles,  reach  the  verge 
of  the  dizzy  height :  a  moment  of  suspense  and 
it  rolls  over,  and  swiftly  falls,  striking,  per- 
chance, here  and  there  a  projecting  point,  and 
with  the  clatter  of  thousands  of  small  stones  set 
in  motion  by  its  rapid  passage  down  the  steep 
slopes  which  incline  outward  near  the  base  of 
the  cliff,  disappears,  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of 
dust  in  the  deep  ravine  beneath,  where  a  day's 
journey  would  hardly  bring  an  active  man  to 
it,  for  far  around  must  he  go  to  accomplish  a 
safe  descent,  and  toilsome  and  dangerous  must 
be  his  progress  up  the  gorge  within  whose  dark 
recesses  his  game  is  likely  to  become  the  food 
of  the  ever  prowling  wolf  or  the  solitary  raven. 
Indeed,  cases  have  been  mentioned  to  us  in 
which  these  goats,  when  shot,  fell  on  to  a  jut- 
ting ledge,  and  there  lay,  fifty  or  a  hundred 
feet  below  the  hunter,  in  full  view,  but  inacces- 
sible from  any  point  whatever. 

Notwithstanding  these  difficulties,  as  portions 
of  the  mountains  are  not  so  precipitous,  the 
Rocky  Mountain  goat  is  shot  and  procured  tol- 
erably easily,  it  is  said,  by  some  of  the  Indian 


THE  BLACK   BEAR.  283 

tribes,  who  make  various  articles  of  clothing 
out  of  its  skin,  and  use  its  soft,  woolly  hair  for 
their  rude  fabrics. 


THE     BLACK     BEAR. 

The  black  bear,  however  clumsy  in  appear- 
ance, is  active,  vigilant,  and  persevering,  pos- 
sesses great  strength,  courage,  and  address, 
and  undergoes  with  little  injury  the  greatest 
fatigues  and  hardships  in  avoiding  the  pursuit 
of  the  hunter.  Like  the  deer  it  changes  its 
haunts  with  the  seasons,  and  for  the  same  rea- 
son, viz.,  the  desire  of  obtaining  suitable  food,  or 
of  retiring  to  the  more  inaccessible  parts,  where 
it  can  pass  the  time  in  security,  unobserved  by 
man,  the  most  dangerous  of  its  enemies. 

During  the  spring  months  it  searches  for  food 
in  the  low  rich  alluvial  lands  that  border  the 
rivers,  or  by  the  margins  of  such  inland  lakes  as, 
on  account  of  their  small  size,  are  called  by  us 
ponds.  There  it  procures  abundance  of  suc- 
culent roots  and  tender  juicy  plants,  upon  which 
it  chiefly  feeds  at  that  season.  During  the  sum- 
mer heat,  it  enters  the  gloomy  swamps,  passes 
much  of  its  time  in  wallowing  in  the  mud  like  a 
hog,  and  contents  itself  with  crayfish,  roots,  and 
nettles,  now  and  then  seizing  on  a  pig.  or  ]>er 


28-4  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

haps  a  sow,  a  calf,  or  even  a  full-grown  cow 
As  soon  as  the  different  kinds  of  berries  which 
grow  on  the  mountains  begin  to  ripen,  the  bears 
betake  themselves  to  the  high  grounds,  followed 
bj  their  cubs. 

In  retired  parts  of  the  country,  where  the 
plantations  are  large  and  the  population  sparse, 
it  pays  visits  to  the  corn-fields,  which  it  ravages 
for  a  while.  After  this,  the  various  species  of 
nuts,  acorns,  grapes,  and  other  forest  fruits,  that 
form  what  in  the  western  States  is  called  mast, 
attract  its  attention.  The  bear  is  then  seen 
rambling  singly  through  the  woods  to  gather  this 
harvest,  not  forgetting,  meanwhile,  to  rob  every 
bee-tree  it  meets  with,  bears  being  expert  at  this 
operation. 

The  black  bear  is  a  capital  climber,  and  now 
and  then  houses  itself  in  the  hollow  trunk  of 
some  large  tree  for  weeks  together  during  the 
winter,  when  it  is  said  to  live  by  sucking  its 
paws. 

At  one  season,  the  bear  may  be  seen  examin- 
ing the  lower  part  of  the  trunk  of  a  tree  for 
Beveral  minutes  with  much  attention,  at  the  same 
time  looking  around,  and  snuffing  the  air.  It 
then  rises  on  its  hind-legs,  approaches  the  trunk, 
embraces  it  with  the  fore-legs,  and  scratches  the 
bark  with  its  teeth  and  claws  for  several  minutes 
in  continuance.     Its  jaws  clash   against  each 


A  GKEAT  DELICACY.  285 

other  until  a  mass  of  foam  runs  down  on  Loth 
Bides  of  the  mouth.  After  this  it  continues  its 
rambles. 

Most  writers  on  the  habits  of  this  animal  have 
stated  that  the  black  bear  does  not  eat  animal 
food  from  choice,  and  never  unless  pressed  by 
hungsr.  This  we  consider  a  great  mistake,  for 
in  our  experience  we  have  found  the  reverse  to 
be  the  case,  and  it  is  well  known  to  our  frontier 
farmers  that  this  animal  is  a  great  destroyer  of 
pigs,  hogs,  calves,  and  sheep,  for  the  sake  of 
which  we  have  even  known  it  to  desert  the  pecan 
groves  in  Texas.  At  the  same  time,  as  will  have 
been  seen  by  our  previous  remarks,  its  principal 
food  generally  consists  of  berries,  roots,  and  other 
vegetable  substances.  It  is  very  fond  also  of 
fish,  and  during  one  of  our  expeditions  to  Maine 
and  New  Brunswick,  we  found  the  inhabitants 
residing  near  the  coast  unwilling  to  eat  the  flesh 
of  the  animal  on  account  of  its  fishy  taste.  In 
our  western  forests,  however,  the  bear  feeds  on 
so  many  nuts  and  well  tasted  roots  and  berries, 
that  its  meat  is  considered  a  great  delicacy,  and 
in  the  city  of  New  York  we  have  generally 
found  its  market  price  three  or  four  times  more 
than  the  best  beef  per  pound.  The  fore-paw  of 
the  bear  when  cooked  presents  a  striking  re- 
semblance to  the  hand  of  a  child  or  young  per 


286  AUDUBON   THE    NATURALIST. 

son,  and  we  have  known  some  individuals  to  b« 
hoaxed  by  its  being  represented  as  such. 

Perhaps  the  most  acrid  vegetable  eaten  by  the 
bear  is  the  Indian  turnip,  which  is  so  pungent 
that  we  have  seen  people  almost  distracted  by  iv, 
when  they  had  inadvertently  put  a  piece  in  their 
mouth. 

The  black  bear  is  a  remarkably  swift  runner 
when  first  alarmed,  although  it  is  generally 
"treed,"  that  is,  forced  to  ascend  a  tree,  when 
pursued  by  dogs  and  hunters  on  horseback.  AVe 
were,  not  very  long  since,  when  on  an  expedition 
in  the  mountains  of  Virginia,  leisurely  making 
our  way  along  a  road  through  the  forest  after  a 
long  hunt  for  deer  and  turkeys,  with  our  gun 
thrown  behind  our  shoulders  and  our  arms  rest- 
ing on  each  end  of  it,  when,  although  we  had 
been  assured  there  were  no  bears  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood, we  suddenly  perceived  one  above  us 
on  a  little  acclivity  at  one  side  of  the  road,  where 
it  was  feeding,  and  nearly  concealed  by  the 
bushes.  The  bank  was  only  about  fifteen  feet 
high,  and  the  bear  not  more  than  twenty  paces 
from  us,  so  we  instantly  disengaged  our  gun,  and 
cocking  both  barrels,  expected  to  "fill  oar  bag" 
nt  one  shot,  but  at  the  instant  and  before  W6 
could  file,  the  bear,  with  a  celerity  that  astonished 
us,  disappeared.  AVe  rushed  up  the  bank  and 
found  the  land  on  the  top  nearly  level  for  a  long 


A.  SAFE   CONCLUSION.  287 

distance  before  us,  and  neither  very  thickly 
wooded  nor  very  bushy ;  but  no  bear  was  to 
be  seen,  although  our  eye  could  penetrate  the 
woods  for  at  least  two  hundred  yards.  After 
the  first  disappointing  glance  around,  we  thought 
bruin  might  have  mounted  a  tree,  but  such  was 
not  the  case,  as  on  looking  everywhere  nothing 
could  be  seen  of  his  black  body,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  conclude  that  he  had  run  out  of  sight 
in  the  brief  space  of  time  we  occupied  in  ascend- 
ing the  little  bank. 

As  we  were  once  standing  at  the  foot  of  a 
large  sycamore  tree  on  the  borders  of  a  long 
and  deep  pond,  on  the  edge  of  which,  in  our 
rear,  there  was  a  thick  and  extensive  "cane 
brake,"  we  heard  a  rushing,  roaring  noise,  as  if 
some  heavy  animal  was  bearing  clown  and  pass- 
ing rapidly  through  the  canes,  directly  towards 
us.  We  were  not  kept  long  in  suspense,  for  in 
an  instant  or  two,  a  large  bear  dashed  out  of  the 
dense  cane,  and  plunging  into  the  pond  without 
having  even  seen  us,  made  off  with  considerable 
speed  through  the  water  towards  the  other  shore. 
Having  only  bird-shot  in  our  gun  we  did  not 
think  it  worth  while  to  call  his  attention  to  ua 
by  firing  at  him,  but  turned  to  the  cane-brake, 
expecting  to  hear  either  dogs  or  men  approach- 
ing shortly.  No  further  noise  could  be  heard, 
however,  and  the  surrounding  woods  were  as 


288  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

still  as  before  this  adventure.  We  supposed 
the  bear  had  been  started  at  some  distance,  and 
that  his  pursuers,  not  being  able  to  follow  him 
through  the  almost  impenetrable  canes,  had 
given  up  the  hunt. 

Being  one  night  sleeping  in  the  house  of  a 
friend,  who  was  a  planter  in  the  state  of  Louis- 
iana, we  were  awakened  by  a  servant  bearing  a 
light,  who  gave  us  a  note,  which  he  said  his 
master  had  just  received.  We  found  it  to  be 
a  communication  from  a  neighbour,  requesting 
our  host  and  ourself  to  join  him  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, and  assist  in  killing  some  bears  at  that 
moment  engaged  in  destroying  his  corn.  We 
were  not  long  in  dressing,  and  on  entering  the 
parlour,  found  our  friend  equipped.  The  over- 
seer's horn  was  heard  calling  up  the  negroes, 
some  were  already  saddling  our  horses,  whilst 
others  were  gathering  all  the  cur-dogs  of  the 
plantation.  All  was  bustle.  Before  half  an 
hour  had  elapsed,  four  stout  negro  men,  armed 
with  axes  and  knives,  and  mounted  on  strong 
nags,  were  following  us  at  a  round  gallop 
through  the  woods,  as  we  made  directly  for 
the  neighbour's  plantation. 

The  night  was  none  of  the  most  favourable, 
a  drizzling  rain  rendering  the  atmosphere  thick 
and  rather  sultry ;  but  as  we  were  well  ao 
quainted  with  the  course,  we  soon  reached  the 


BEARS   IN   TROUBLE.  289 

house,  where  the  owner  was  waitirg  our  arrival. 
There  were  now  three  of  us  armed  with  guns, 
half  a  dozen  servants,  and  a  good  pack  of  dogs 
of  all  kinds.  We  jogged  on  towards  the  de- 
tached field  in  which  the  bears  were  at  wcrk. 
The  owner  told  us  that  for  some  days  several 
of  these  animals  had  visited  his  corn,  and  that 
a  negro  who  was  sent  every  afternoon  to  see  at 
what  part  of  the  enclosure  they  entered,  had 
assured  him  there  were  at  least  five  in  the  field 
that  night.  A  plan  of  attack  was  formed :  the 
bars  at  the  usual  entrance  of  the  field  were  to 
be  put  down  without  noise ;  the  men  and  dogs 
were  to  divide,  and  afterwards  proceed  so  as  to 
surround  the  bears,  when,  at  the  sounding  of 
our  horns,  every  one  was  to  charge  towards  the 
centre  of  the  field,  and  shout  as  loudly  as  pos- 
sible, which  it  was  judged  would  so  intimidate 
the  animals  as  to  induce  them  to  seek  refuge 
upon  the  dead  trees  with  which  the  field  was 
still  partially  covered. 

The  plan  succeeded:  the  horns  sounded,  the 
horses  galloped  forward,  the  men  shouted,  the 
dogs  barked  and  howled.  The  shrieks  of  the 
negroes  were  enough  to  frighten  a  legion  of 
bears,  and  by  the  time  we  reached  the  middle 
of  the  field  we  found  that  several  had  mounted 
the  trees,  and  having  lighted  fires,  we  now  saw 
them  crouched  at  the  junction  of  the  larger 
96 


290  AUDUBON  THIS   NATURALIST. 

branches  with  the  trunks.  Two  were  imme- 
diately shot  down.  They  were  cubs  of  no  great 
size,  and  being  already  half  dead,  were  quickly 
dispatched  by  the  dogs. 

We  were  anxious  to  procure  as  much  sport 
as  possible,  and  having  observed  one  of  the 
bears,  which  from  its  size  we  conjectured  to 
be  the  mother  of  the  two  cubs  just  killed,  we 
ordered  the  negroes  to  cut  down  the  tree  on 
which  it  was  perched,  when  it  was  intended  the 
dogs  should  have  a  tug  with  it,  while  we  should 
support  them,  and  assist  in  preventing  the  bear 
from  escaping,  by  wounding  it  in  one  of  the 
hind-legs.  The  surrounding  woods  now  echoed 
to  the  blows  of  the  axemen.  The  tree  wafl 
large  and  tough,  having  been  girded  more  than 
two  years,  and  the  operation  of  felling  it  seemed 
extremely  tedious.  However,  at  length  it  be- 
gan to  vibrate  at  each  stroke ;  a  few  inches 
alone  now  supported  it,  and  in  a  short  time  it 
came  crashing  to  the  ground. 

The  dogs  rushed  to  the  charge,  and  harassed 
the  bear  on  all  sides,  whilst  we  surrounded  the 
pooi  animal.  As  its  life  depended  upon  its 
courage  and  strength,  it  exercised  both  in  the 
most  energetic  manner.  Now  and  then  it  seiz 
ed  a  dog  and  killed  him  by  a  single  stroke. 
At  another  time,  a  well  administered  blow  of 
one  of  its  fore-legs  sent  an  assailant  off,  yelping 


SCIPIO'S  MASTERLY  ESCAPE.  291 

bo  piteously  that  he  might  be  looked  upon  aa 
hors  du  combat.  A  cur  had  daringly  ventured 
to  seize  the  bear  by  the  snout,  and  was  seen* 
hanging  to  it,  covered  with  blood,  whilst  several 
others  scrambled  over  its  back.  Now  and  then 
the  infuriated  animal  was  seen  to  cast  a  revenge- 
ful glance  at  some  of  the  party,  and  we  had  al- 
ready determined  to  dispatch  it,  when,  to  our 
astonishment,  it  suddenly  shook  off  all  the  dogs, 
and  before  we  could  fire,  charged  upon  one  of 
the  negroes,  who  was  mounted  on  a  pied  horse. 
The  bear  seized  the  steed  with  teeth  and  claws, 
and  clung  to  its  breast.  The  terrified  horse 
snorted  and  plunged.  The  rider,  an  athletic 
young  man,  and  a  capital  horseman,  kept  his 
seat,  although  only  saddled  on  a  sheep-skin 
tightly  girthed,  and  requested  his  master  not  to 
fire  at  the  bear.  Notwithstanding  his  coolness 
and  courage,  our  anxiety  for  his  safety  was 
raised  to  the  highest  pitch,  especially  when  in 
a  moment  we  saw  rider  and  horse  come  to  the 
ground  together ;  but  we  were  instantly  reliev- 
ed on  witnessing  the  masterly  manner  in  which 
Scipio  dispatched  his  adversary,  b}r  laying  open 
his  skull  with  a  single,  well  directed  blow  of  his 
axe,  when  a  deep  growl  announced  the  death  of 
the  bear. 

In  the  state  of  Maine  the  lumbermen  (wood- 
cutters) and  the  farmers  set  guns  to  kill  this 


292  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

animal,  which  are  arranged  in  this  way :  A  fun 
nel-shaped  space  about  five  feet  long  is  formed 
•by  driving  stixmg  sticks  into  the  ground  in  two 
converging  lines,  leaving  both  the  ends  open, 
the  narrow  end  being  wide  enough  to  admit  the 
muzzle  of  an  old  musket,  and  the  other  extrem- 
ity so  broad  as  to  allow  the  head  and  shoulders 
of  the  bear  to  enter  The  gun  is  then  loaded 
and  fastened  securely,  so  as  to  deliver  its  charge 
facing  the  wide  end  of  the  enclosure.  A  round 
and  smooth  stick  is  now  placed  behind  the  stock 
of  the  gun,  and  a  cord  leading  from  the  trigger 
passed  around  it,  the  other  end  of  which,  with 
a  piece  of  meat  or  a  bird  tied  to  it  (an  owl  is  a 
favourite  bait),  is  stretched  in  front  of  the  gun, 
so  far  that  the  bear  can  reach  the  bait  with  his 
paw.  Upon  his  pulling  the  meat  towards  him, 
the  string  draws  the  trigger  and  the  animal  is 
instantly  killed 

On  the  coast  of  Labrador  we  observed  the 
black  bear  catching  fish  with  great  dexterity, 
and  the  food  of  these  animals  in  that  region 
consisted  altogether  of  the  fishes  they  seized  on 
the  edge  of  the  water  inside  the  surf.  Like  the 
Polar  bear,  the  present  species  swims  with  ease 
and  rapidity,  and  it  is  a  difficult  matter  to  catch 
a  full-grown  bear  with  a  skiff,  and  a  dangerous 
adventure  to  attempt  its  capture  in  a  cancw, 
which  it  could  easily  upset. 


AQUATIC  SPORTS.  293 

"We  were  once  enjoying  a  fine  autumnal  after 
noon  on  the  shores  of  the  beautiful  Ohio,  with 
two  acquaintances  who  had  accompanied  us  in 
quest  of  some  swallows  that  had  built  in  a  high 
sandy  bank,  when  we  observed  three  hunters 
about  the  middle  of  the  river  in  a  skiff,  vigor- 
ously rowing,  the  steersman  paddling,  too,  with 
all  his  strength,  in  pursuit  of  a  bear  which, 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  ahead  of 
them,  was  cleaving  the  water,  and  leaving  a 
widening  wake  behind  him  on  its  unrippled 
surface  as  he  made  for  the  shore,  directly  oppo- 
site to  us.  "We  all  rushed  down  to  the  water  at 
this  sight,  and  launching  a  skiff  we  then  kept 
for  fishing,  hastily  put  off  to  intercept  the  an- 
imal, which  we  hoped  to  assist  in  capturing. 
Both  boats  were  soon  nearing  the  bear,  and  we, 
standing  in  the  bow  of  our  skiff,  commenced  the 
attack  by  discharging  a  pistol  at  his  head.  At 
this  he  raised  one  paw,  brushed  it  across  his 
forehead,  and  then  seemed  to  redouble  his  efforts. 
Repeated  shots  from  both  boats  were  now  fired 
at  him,  and  we  ran  alongside,  thinking  to  haul 
his  carcase  triumphantly  on  board ;  but  sud- 
denly, to  our  dismay,  he  laid  both  paws  on  the 
gunwale  of  the  skiff,  and  his  great  weight 
brought  the  side  for  an  instant  under  water, 
bo  that  we  expected  the  boat  would  fill  and 
sink.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost :  we  al? 
25* 


294  ATTPUBONT   THE   NATURALIST. 

threw  our  weight  on  to  the  other  side,  to  coun- 
terpoise that  of  the  animal,  and  commenced  a 
pell-mell  battery  on  him  with  the  oars  and  a 
boat-hook;  the  men  in  the  other  boat  also  at- 
tacked him,  and  driving  the  bow  of  their  skiff 
close  to  his  head,  one  of  them  laid  his  skull 
open  with  an  axe,  which  killed  him  instanter. 
We  jointly  hurraed,  and  tying  a  rope  round  hu 
neck,  towed  him  ashore  behind  our  boata, 


THE  GRIZZLY  BEAR.  295 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE  GRIZZLY    BEA.R. 

We  passed  many  hours  of  excitement,  and 
some,  perchance,  of  danger,  in  the  wilder  por- 
tions of  our  country  ;  and  at  times  memory  re- 
cals  adventures  we  can  now  hardly  attempt  to 
describe ;  nor  can  we  ever  again  feel  the  enthu- 
siasm such  scenes  produced  in  us.  Our  readers 
must  therefore  imagine  the  startling  sensations 
experienced  on  a  sudden  and  quite  unexpected 
face-to-face  meeting  with  the  savage  grizzly  bear 
— the  huge  shaggy  monster  disputing  possession 
of  the  wilderness  against  all  comers,  and  threat- 
ening immediate  attack ! 

Whilst  in  a  neighbourhood  where  the  grizzly 
bear  may  possibly  be  hidden,  the  excited  nerves 
will  cause  the  heart's  pulsations  to  quicken  if 
but  a  startled  ground-squirrel  run  past;  the 
sharp  click  of  the  lock  is  heard,  aL.d  the  rifle 
hastily  thrown  to  the  shoulder,  before  *  second 
of  time  has  assured  the  hunter  of  the  trifling 
cause  of  his  emotion. 

But  although  dreaded  alike  h>    white  li<^>ku 


296  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

and  by  red  man,  this  animal  is  fortunately  not 
very  abundant  to  the  eastward  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  the  chance  of  encountering  him 
does  not  often  occur.  We  saw  only  a  few  of 
these  formidable  beasts  during  our  expedition 
up  the  Missouri  river,  and  in  the  country  over 
which  we  hunted  during  our  last  journey  to  the 
west. 

The  Indians,  as  is  well  known,  consider  tUe 
slaughter  of  a  grizzly  bear  a  feat  second  only  to 
scalping  an  enemy,  and  necklaces  made  of  the 
claws  of  this  beast  are  worn  as  trophies  by  even 
the  bravest  among  them. 

On  the  22d  of  August,  1843,  we  killed  one 
of  these  bears,  and  as  our  journals  are  before  us, 
and  thinking  it  may  be  of  interest,  we  will  ex- 
tract the  account  of  the  day's  proceedings,  al- 
though part  of  it  has  no  connection  with  our 
present  subject.  We  were  descending  the  Upper 
Missouri  river. 

11  The  weather  being  fine,  we  left  our  camp  of 
the  previous  night  early,  but  had  made  only 
about  twelve  miles  when  the  wind  arose  and 
prevented  our  men  from  making  any  headway 
with  the  oars;  we  therefore  landed  under  a  high 
bank  amongst  a  number  of  fallen  trees  and  some 
drifted  timber.  All  hands  went  in  search  of 
elks.  Mr.  Culbertson  killed  a  deer,  and  with 
the  help  of  Mr.  Squires  brought  the  meat  to  the 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT  297 

boat  We  saw  nothing  during  a  long  walk  we 
took,  but  hearing  three  or  four  gun-shots  which 
we  thought  were  fired  by  some  of  our  party,  we 
hastened  in  the  direction  from  whence  the  reports 
came,  running  and  hallooing,  but  could  find  no 
one.  We  then  made  the  best  ot  our  way  back 
to  the  boat  and  dispatched  three  men,  who  dis- 
covered that  the  firing  had  been  at  an  elk,  which 
was,  however,  not  obtained.  Mr.  Bell  killed  a 
female  elk  and  brought  a  portion  of  its  flesh  to 
the  boat.  After  resting  ourselves  a  while  and 
eating  dinner,  Mr.  Culbertson,  Mr.  Squires,  and 
ourselves  walked  to  the  banks  of  the  Little  Mis- 
souri, distant  about  one  mile,  where  we  saw  a 
buffalo  bull  drinking  at  the  edge  of  a  sand-bar. 
We  shot  him,  and  fording  the  stream,  which  was 
quite  shallow,  took  away  the  '  nerf ;'  the  animal 
was  quite  dead.  We  saw  many  ducks  in  this 
river.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  we  started 
in  our  boat  and  rowed  about  half  a  mile  below 
the  Little  Missouri.  Mr.  Culbertson  and  our- 
selves walked  to  the  bull  again  and  knocked  oif 
his  horns,  after  which  Mr.  Culbertson  endeav- 
oured to  penetrate  a  large  thicket  in  hopes  of 
starting  a  grizzly  bear,  but  found  it  so  entangled 
with  briars  and  vines  that  he  was  obliged  to  de 
sist,  and  returned  very  soon.  Mr.  Harris,  who 
had  gone  in  the  same  direction  and  for  the  same 
purpose,  did  not  return  with  him.     As  we  were 


298  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

approaching  the  boat  we  met  Mr.  Sprague,  who 
informed  us  that  he  thought  he  had  seen  a  grizzly 
bear  walking  along  the  upper  bank  of  the  river 
and  we  went  towards  the  spot  as  fast  as  possible. 
Meantime  the  bear  had  gone  down  to  the  water, 
and  was  clumsily  and  slowly  proceeding  on  its 
way.  It  was  only  a  few  paces  from  and  below 
us  and  was  seen  by  our  whole  party  at  the  same 
instant.  We  all  fired,  and  the  animal  dropped 
dead  without  even  the  power  of  uttering  a  groan. 
Mr.  Culbertson  put  a  rifle  ball  through  its  neck, 
Bell  placed  two  large  balls  in  its  side,  and  our 
bullet  entered  its  belly.  After  shooting  the 
bear  we  proceeded  to  a  village  of  '  prairie  dogs,' 
and  set  traps  in  hopes  of  catching  some  of  them. 
We  were  inclined  to  think  they  had  all  left,  but 
Mr.  Bell  seeing  two,  shot  them.  There  were 
thousands  of  their  burrows  in  sight.  Our  '  pat- 
roon,'  assisted  by  one  of  the  men,  skinned  the 
bear,  which  weighed,  as  we  thought,  about  four 
hundred  pounds.  It  appeared  to  be  between 
four  and  five  years  old,  and  was  a  male.  Its 
lard  was  rendered,  and  filled  sundry  bottles  with 
4  real  bear's  grease,'  whilst  we  had  the  skin  pre- 
served by  our  accomplished  taxidermist,  Mr. 
Bell." 

The  following  afternoon,  as  we  were  descend- 
ing the  stream,  we  saw  another  grizzl}r  bear, 
somewhat  smaller  than  the  one  mentioned  above 


IN   SEARCH  OF  FOOD.  299 

It  was  swimming  towards  the  carcass  of  a  dead 
buffalo  lodged  in  the  prongs  of  a"  sawyer"  or 
"  snag,"  but  on  seeing  us  it  raised  on  its  hind 
feet  until  quite  erect,  uttered  a  loud  grunt  or 
snort,  made  a  leap  from  the  water,  gained  the 
upper  bank  of  the  river,  and  disappeared  in  an 
instant  amid  the  tangled  briars  and  bushes  there- 
abouts. Many  wolves  of  different  colours — 
black,  white,  red,  or  brindle — were  also  intent 
on  going  to  the  buffalo  to  gorge  themselves  on 
the  carrion,  but  took  fright  at  our  approach,  and 
we  saw  them  sneaking  away  with  their  tails 
pretty  close  to  their  hind-legs. 

The  grizzly  bear  generally  inhabits  the 
swampy,  well  covered  portions  of  the  districts 
where  it  is  found,  keeping  a  good  deal  among 
the  trees  and  bushes,  and  in  these  retreats  it  has 
its  "  beds"  or  lairs.  Some  of  these  we  passed  by, 
and  our  sensations  were  the  reverse  of  pleas- 
ant whilst  in  such  thick,  tangled,  and  dangerous 
neighbourhoods ;  the  bear  in  his  concealment 
having  decidedly  the  advantage  in  case  one 
mould  come  upon  him  unawares.  These  ani- 
nals  ramble  abroad  both  by  day  and  night.  In 
nany  places  we  found  their  great  tracks  along 
Jbe  banks  of  the  rivers  where  they  had  been 
prowling  in  search  of  food.  There  are  seasons 
during  the  latter  part  of  summer,  when  the  wild 
fruits,  that  are  eagerly  sought  after  by  the  bears, 


800  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

are  very  abundant.  These  beasts  then  feed 
upon  them,  tearing  down  the  branches  as  far  aa 
they  can  reach  whilst  standing  in  an  upright 
posture.  They  in  this  manner  get  at  wild 
plums,  service  berries,  buffalo  berries,  and  the 
seeds  of  a  species  of  cornus  or  dog-wood  which 
grows  in  the  alluvial  bottoms  of  the  northwest 
The  grizzly  bear  is  also  in  the  habit  of  scratch- 
ing the  gravelly  earth  on  the  sides  of  hills  where 
the  vegetable  called  "  pomme  blanche"  is  known 
to  grow,  but  the  favourite  food  of  these  animals 
is  the  more  savoury  flesh  of  such  beasts  as  are 
less  powerful,  fleet,  or  cunning  than  themselves. 
They  have  been  known  to  seize  a  wounded 
buffalo,  kill  it,  and  partially  bury  it  in  the  earth 
for  future  use,  after  having  gorged  themselves 
on  the  best  parts  of  its  flesh  and  lapped  up  the 
warm  blood. 

We  have  heard  many  adventures  related, 
which  occurred  to  hunters  either  when  surprised 
by  these  bears,  or  when  approaching  them  with 
the  intention  of  shooting  them.  A  few  of  these 
accounts,  which  we  believe  are  true,  we  will  in- 
troduce :  during  a  voyage  (on  board  one  of  the 
steamers  belonging  to  the  American  Fur  Com- 
pany) up  the  Missouri  river,  a  large  she-bear 
with  two  young  was  observed  from  the  deck, 
and  several  gentlemen  proposed  to  go  ashore, 
kill  the  dam,  and  secure  her  cubs.     A  small 


DEATH  OF  AN  INDIAN  WOMAN.  301 

boat  was  lowered  for  their  accommodation,  and 
with  guns  and  ammunition  they  pushed  off  to 
the  bank  and  landed  in  the  mud.  The  old  bear 
had  observed  them  and  removed  her  position  to 
some  distance,  where  she  stood  near  the  bank, 
which  was  there  several  feet  above  the  bed  of 
the  river.  One  of  the  hunters  having  neared 
the  animal,  fired  at  her,  inflicting  a  severe 
wound.  Enraged  with  pain  the  bear  rushed 
with  open  jaws  towards  the  sportsmen  at  a  rapid 
rate,  and  with  looks  that  assured  them  she  was 
in  a  desperate  fury.  There  was  but  a  moment's 
time;  the  party,  too  much  frightened  to  stand 
the  charge,  "  ingloriously  turned  and  fled,"  with- 
out even  pulling  another  trigger,  and  darting  to 
the  margin  of  the  river  jumped  into  the  stream, 
losing  their  guns,  and  floundering  and  bobbing 
under,  while  their  hats  floated  away  with  the 
muddy  current.  After  swimming  a  while  they 
were  picked  up  by  the  steamer,  as  terrified  as  if 
the  bear  was  even  then  among  them,  though  the 
animal  on  seeing  them  all  afloat  had  made  off, 
followed  by  her  young. 

The  following  was  related  to  us  by  one  of  the 
"  engage's"  at  Fort  Union :  a  fellow  having 
killed  an  Indian  woman j  was  forced  to  run  away, 
and  feared  he  would  be  captured,  started  so 
suddenly  that  he  took  neither  gun  nor  other 
weapon  with  him  ;  he  made  his  wav  to  the  Crow 
26 


S02  AUDUBON  THE   NATURALIST. 

Indians,  some  three  hundred  miles  np  the  Yellow 
Stone  river,  where  he  arrived  in  a  miserable 
plight,  having  suffered  from  hunger  and  expo- 
sure.  He  escaped  the  men  who  were  first  sent 
after  him,  by  keeping  in  ravines  and  hiding 
closely ;  but  others  were  despatched,  who  finally 
caught  him.  He  said  that  one  day  he  saw  a 
dead  buffalo  lying  near  the  river  bank,  and 
going  towards  it  to  get  some  of  the  meat,  to  his 
utter  astonishment  and  horror  a  young  grizzly 
bear  which  was  feeding  on  the  carcass,  raised  up 
from  behind  it  and  so  suddenly  attacked  him 
that  his  face  and  hands  were  lacerated  by  its 
claws  before  he  had  time  to  think  of  defending 
himself.  Not  daunted,  however,  he  gave  the 
cub  a  tremendous,  jerk,  which  threw  it  down, 
and  took  to  his  heels,  leaving  the  young  savage 
in  possession  of  the  prize. 

The  audacity  of  these  bears  in  approaching 
the  neighbourhood  of  Fort  Union  at  times  was 
remarkable.  The  waiter,  "  Jean  Battiste,"  who 
had  been  in  the  employ  of  the  company  for  up- 
wards of  twenty  years,  told  us  that  while  one 
day  picking  peas  in  the  garden,  as  he  advanced 
towards  the  end  of  one  of  the  rows,  he  saw  a 
large  grizzly  bear  gathering  that  excellent  veget- 
able also.  At  this  unexpected  and  startling  dis- 
covery, he  dropped  his  bucket,  peas  and  all,  and 
fled  at  his,  fastest  pace  to  the  Fort.     Immediately 


AN  ESCAPE.  305 

the  hunters  turned  out  on  their  best  horses,  and 
by  riding  in  a  circle,  formed  a  line  which  enabled 
them  to  approach  the  bear  on  all  sides.  They 
found  the  animal  greedily  feasting  on  the  peas, 
and  shot  him  without  his  apparently  caring  for 
their  approach.  "We  need  hardly  say  the  bucket 
was  empty. 

The  following  is  taken  from  Sir  John  Eichard- 
son's  Fauna  Boreali  Americana :  "A  party  of 
voyagers,  who  had  been  employed  all  day  in 
tracking  a  canoe  up  the  Saskatchewan,  had 
seated  themselves  in  the  bright  light  by  a  fire, 
and  were  busy  in  preparing  their  supper,  when 
a  large  grizzly  bear  sprung  over  their  canoe, 
that  was  placed  behind  them,  and  seizing  one 
of  the  party  by  the  shoulder,  carried  him  off. 
The  rest  fled  in  terror,  with  the  exception  of  a 
Metis,  named  Bourapo,  who,  grasping  his  gun, 
followed  the  bear  as  it  was  retreating  leisurely 
with  its  prey.  He  called  to  his  unfortunate 
comrade  that  he  was  afraid  of  hitting  him  if  he 
fired  at  the  bear,  but  the  latter  entreated  him  to 
hre  immediately,  without  hesitation,  as  the  bear 
was  squeezing  him  to  death.  On  this  he  took  a 
deliberate  aim  and  discharged  the  contents  of 
his  piece  into  the  body  of  the  bear,  which  in- 
stantly dropped  its  prey  to  pursue  Bourapo 
He  escaped  with  difficulty,  and  the  bear  ultima- 
tely retired  to  a  thicket,  where  it  was  supposed 


304  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

to  have  died ;  but  the  curiosity  of  the  party  not 
being  a  match  for  their  fears,  the  fact  of  its  de- 
cease was  not  ascertained.  The  man  who  was 
rescued  had  his  arm  fractured,  and  was  other- 
wise severely  bitten  by  the  bear,  but  finally  re- 
covered. I  have  seen  Bourapo.  and  can  add 
that  the  account  which  he  gives  is  fully  credited 
by  the  traders  resident  in  that  part  of  the 
country,  who  are  best  qualified  to  judge  of  its 
truth  from  the  knowledge  of  the  parties.  I 
have  been  told  that  there  is  a  man  now  living 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Edmonton  House  who 
was  attacked  by  a  grizzly  bear,  which  sprang 
out  of  a  thicket,  and  with  one  stroke  of  its  paw 
completely  scalped  him,  laying  bare  the  skull 
and  bringing  the  skin  of  the  forehead  down  over 
the  eyes.  Assistance  coming  up,  the  bear  made 
off  without  doing  him  further  injury,  but  the 
scalp  not  being  replaced,  the  poor  man  has  lost 
his  sight,  although  he  thinks  that  his  eyes  are 
uninjured." 

Mr.  Drummond,  in  his  excursions  over  the 
B'xiky  Mountains,  had  frequent  opportunities  of 
observing  the  manners  of  the  grizzly  bear,  and 
it  often  happened  that  in  turning  the  point  of  a 
rock  or  sharp  angle  of  a  valley,  he  came  sud- 
denly upon  one  or  more  of  them.  On  such 
occasions  they  reared  on  their  hind  legs  and 
made  a  loud  noise  like  a  person  breathing  quick. 


THE  DEATH  SHOT.  305 

but  much  harsher.  He  kepi  his  ground  witn- 
out  attempting  to  molest  th  ',  and  they,  on 
their  part,  after  attentively  regarding  him  for 
some  time,  generally  wheeled  round  and  galloped 
off,  though,  from  their  disposition,  there  is  little 
doubt  but  he  would  have  been  torn  in  pieces 
had  he  lost  his  presence  of  mind  and  attempted 
to  fly.  When  he  discovered  them  from  a  dis- 
tance, he  generally  frightened  them  away  by 
beating  on  a  large  tin  box,  in  which  he  carried 
his  specimens  of  plants.  He  never  saw  more 
than  four  together,  and  two  of  these  he  supposes 
to  have  been  cubs;  he  more  often  met  them 
singly  or  in  pairs.  He  was  only  once  attacked, 
and  then  by  a  female,  for  the  purpose  of  allow- 
ing her  cubs  time  to  escape.  His  gun  on  this 
occasion  missed  fire,  but  he  kept  her  at  bay  with 
the  stock  of  it,  until  some  gentlemen  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company,  with  whom  he  was 
travelling  at  the  time,  came  up  and  drove  her 
off.  In  the  latter  end  of  June,  1826,  he  ob- 
served a  male  caressing  a  female,  and  soon  after- 
wards they  both  came  towards  him,  but  whether 
accidentally,  or  for  the  purpose  of  attacking  him, 
he  was  uncertain.  He  ascended  a  tree,  and  as 
the  female  drew  near,  fired  at  and  mortally 
wounded  her.  She  uttered  a  few  loud  screams, 
which  threw  the  male  into  a  furious  rage,  and 
he  reared  up  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree  in 
26* 


806  AUUUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

which  Mr.  Drummond  was  seated,  but  nevei 
attempted  to  ascend  it.  The  female,  in  the 
meantime,  retired  to  a  short  distance,  lay  down, 
and  as  the  male  was  proceeding  to  join  her,  Mr. 
Drummond  shot  him  also. 

The  following  is  from  notes  of  J.  "W.  Audu 
bon,  made  in  California  in  1849  and  1850: 
"  High  up  on  the  waters  of  the  San  Joaquin, 
in  California,  many  of  these  animals  have  been 
killed  by  the  miners,  now  overrunning  all  the 
country  west  of  the  Sierra  Nevada.  Greatly  as 
the  grizzly  bear  is  dreaded,  it  is  hunted  with  all 
the  more  enthusiasm  by  these  fearless  pioneers 
in  the  romantic  hills,  valleys,  and  wild  moun- 
tains of  the  land  of  gold,  as  its  flesh  is  highly 
prized  by  men  who  have  been  living  for  months 
on  salt  pork,  or  dry  and  tasteless  deer-meat.  I 
have  seen  two  dollars  a  pound  paid  for  the  leaf- 
fat  around  the  kidneys.  If  there  is  time,  and 
the  animal  is  not  in  a  starving  condition,  the 
grizzly  bear  always  runs  at  the  sight  of  man ; 
but  should  the  hunter  come  too  suddenly  on 
him,  the  fierce  beast  always  commences  the  en^ 
gagement  And  the  first  shot  of  the  hunter  is 
a  matter  of  much  importance,  as,  if  unsuccessful, 
his  next  move  must  be  to  look  for  a  sapling  to 
climb  for  safety.  It  is  rare  to  find  a  man  who 
would  willingly  come  into  immediate  contact 
with  one  of  ttese  powerful  and  vindictive  brutes. 


307 


Some  were  killed  near  ' Green  Springs/  tin  th« 
Stanislaus,  in  the  winter  of  1849-50,  that  were 
nearly  eight  hundred  pounds  weight.  I  saw 
many  cubs  at  San  Francisco,  Sacramento  city, 
and  Stockton,  and  even  those  not  larger  than 
an  ordinary  sized  dog  showed  evidence  of  their 
future  fierceness,  as  it  required  great  patience  to 
render  them  gentle  enough  to  be  handled  with 
impunity  as  pets.  In  camping  at  night,  my 
friend  Kobert  Layton,  and  I,  too,  often  thought 
what  sort  of  defence  we  could  make  should  an 
old  fellow  come  smelling  round  our  solitary  tent 
for  supper ;  but  as  '  Old  Riley,'  our  pack-mule, 
was  always  tied  near,  we  used  to  quiet  ourselves 
with  the  idea  that  while  Riley  was  snorting  and 
kicking,  we  might  place  a  couple  of  well-aimed 
balls  from  our  old  friend  Miss  Betsey,  (as  the 
boys  had  christened  my  large  gun,)  so  that  our 
revolvers,  Colt's  dragoon  pistols,  would  give  us 
the  victory ;  but  really  a  startling  effect  would 
be  produced  by  the  snout  of  a  grizzly  bear  be- 
ing thrust  into  your  tent,  and  your  awaking  at 
the  noise  of  the  sniff  he  might  take  to  induce 
his  appetite. 

"  I  was  anxious  to  purchase  a  few  of  the  beau- 
tiful skins  of  this  species,  but  those  who  had 
killed  '  an  old  grizzly'  said  they  would  take  his 
skin  home.     It  makes  a  first-rate  bed  under  the 
nin  and  worn  blanket  of  the  digger. 


308  AUDUBON"  THE  NATURALIST. 

"The  different  colours  of  the  pelage  of  thia 
animal,  but  for  the  uniformity  of  its  extraor- 
dinary claws,  would  puzzle  any  one  not  ac- 
quainted with  its  form,  for  it  varies  from  jet 
black  in  the  young  of  the  first  and  second  win- 
ter to  the  hoary  gray  of  age,  or  of  summer." 

In  Townsend's  "  Narrative  of  a  Journey  across 
^he  Kocky  Mountains  to  the  Columbia  Eiver, 
3tc.,"  we  find  two  adventures  with  the  grizzly 
Dear.  The  first  is  as  follows :  The  party  were 
on  Black  Foot  river,  a  small,  stagnant  stream 
which  runs  in  a  northwesterly  direction  down  a 
valley  covered  with  quagmires,  through  which 
they  had  great  difficulty  in  making  their  way. 
"As  we  approached  our  encampment,  near  a 
small  grove  of  willows  on  the  margin  of  the 
river,  a  tremendous  grizzly  bear  rushed  out  up- 
on us.  Our  horses  ran  wildly  in  every  direc- 
tion, snorting  with  terror,  and  became  nearly 
unmanageable.  Several  balls  were  instantly 
fired  into  him,  but  they  only  seemed  to  increase 
his  fury.  After  spending  a  moment  in  rending 
each  wound,  (their  invariable  practice,)  he  select- 
ed the  person  who  happened  to  be  nearest,  and 
darted  after  him,  but  before  he  proceeded  far  he 
was  sure  to  be  stopped  again  by  a  ball  from 
another  quarter.  In  this  way  he  was  driven 
about  amongst  us  for  perhaps  fifteen  minutes, 
\t  times  so  near  some  of  the  horses  that  h* 


A  STRUGGLE  FOR  LIFE.  309 

received  several  severe  kicks  from  them.  One 
of  the  pack-horses  was  fastened  upon  by  the 
brute,  and  in  the  terrified  animal's  efforts  to 
escape  the  dreaded  gripe,  the  pack  and  saddle 
were  broken  to  pieces  and  disengaged.  One  of 
our  mules  also  lent  him  a  kick  in  the  head, 
while  pursuing  it  up  an  adjacent  hill,  which 
sent  him  rolling  to  the  bottom.  Here  he  w^ 
finally  brought  to  a  stand.  The  poor  animal 
Was  so  completely  surrounded  by  enemies  that 
he  became  bewildered.  He  raised  himself  upon 
his  hind  feet,  standing  almost  erect,  his  mouth 
partly  open,  and  from  his  protruding  tongue  the 
blood  fell  fast  in  drops.  While  in  this  position 
he  received  about  six  more  balls,  each  of  which 
made  him  reel.  At  last,  as  in  complete  desper- 
ation, he  dashed  into  the  water,  and  swam  sev- 
eral yards  with  astonishing  strength  and  agility, 
the  guns  cracking  at  him  constantly.  But  he 
was  not  to  proceed  far.  Just  then,  Eichardson, 
who  had  been  absent,  rode  up,  and  fixing  his 
deadly  aim  upon  him,  fired  a  ball  into  the  back 
of  his  head,  which  killed  him  instantly.  The 
strength  of  four  men  was  required  to  drag  the 
ferocious  brute  from  the  water,  and  upon  exam- 
ining his  body  he  was  found  completely  rid- 
dled ;  there  did  not  appear  to  be  four  inches  of 
his  shaggy  person,  from  the  hips  upward,  that 
had  not  received  a  ball.     There  must  have  been 


810  AUDUBON  THE  NATURALIST. 

at  least  thirty  shots  made  at  him,  and  probably 
few  missed  him,  yet  such  was  his  tenacity  of 
life,  that  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  have  sue* 
ceeded  in  crossing  the  river  but  for  the  last  shot 
in  the  brain.  He  would  probably  weigh,  at  the 
least,  six  hundred  pounds,  and  was  about  the 
height  of  an  ordinary  steer.  The  spread  of  the 
foot,  laterally,  was  ten  inches,  and  the  claws 
measured  seven  inches  in  length.  This  animal 
was  remarkably  lean ;  when  in  good  condition 
he  would,  doubtless,  much  exceed  in  weight  the 
estimate  I  have  given. 

"  In  the  afternoon  one  of  our  men  had  a  some 
what  perilous  adventure  with  a  grizzly  bear. 
He  saw  the  animal  crouching  his  huge  frame 
in  some  willows  which  skirted  the  river,  and 
approaching  him  on  horseback  to  within  twenty 
yards,  fired  upon  him.  The  bear  was  only 
slightly  wounded  by  the  shot,  and  with  a  fierce 
growl  of  angry  malignity,  rushed  from  his  cover, 
and  gave  chase.  The  horse  happened  to  be  a 
slow  one,  and  for  the  distance  of  half  a  mile  the 
race  was  hard  contested,  the  bear  frequently 
approaching  so  near  the  terrified  animal  as  to 
snap  at  his  heels,  whilst  the  equally  terrified 
rider,  who  had  lost  his  hat  at  the  start,  used 
whip  and  spur  with  the  most  frantic  diligence, 
frequently  looking  behind,  from  an  influence 
which  he  could  not  resist,  at  his  rugged  and 


FLIGHT  OF  THE   GREENHORN".  311 

determined  foe,  and  shrieking  in  an  agony  of 
fear,  *  shoot  him !  shoot  him  V  The  man,  who 
was  one  of  the  greenhorns,  happened  to  be 
about  a  mile  behind  the  main  body,  either  from 
the  indolence  of  his  horse  or  his  own  careless- 
ness; but  as  he  approached  the  party  in  his 
desperate  flight,  and  his  lugubrious  cries  reach- 
ed the  ears  of  the  men  in  front,  about  a  dozen 
of  them  rode  to  his  assistance,  and  soon  suc- 
ceeded in  diverting  the  attention  of  his  pertina- 
cious foe.  After  he  had  received  the  contents 
of  all  the  guns,  he  fell,  and  was  soon  despatched. 
The  man  rode  in  among  his  fellows,  pale  and 
haggard  from  overwrought  feelings,  and  was, 
probably,  effectually  cured  of  a  propensity  foi 
meddling  with  grizzly  bears." 


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